She was a dancer, -- I was the master; Our troupe was rollicking on at the fair: She and a stranger bit at one sweeting, -- A large pale-green one ripe for eating. (She has soft brown eyes and soft brown hair) -- 'Twas down at the back of the booth, my sweeting, You never knew I was there! My brain was fire. At fall of night, By a great black cedar, dagger'd dead, She lay, turn'd clear to the wind's quick cries, In the long grass writhing with flamed fire-flies, And the white stars shrinking, high overhead. And he was dreaming of paradise, In a laughing wanton's bed! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EMERGENCY HAYING by HAYDEN CARRUTH I LOOKED FOR LIFE AND DID A SHADOW SEE by JAMES GALVIN THE MEASURE OF THE YEAR by JAMES GALVIN FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE by EMMA LAZARUS DOMESDAY BOOK: HENRY BAKER, AT NEW YORK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |