WE come not, fair one, to thy hand of snow, From the soft scenes by Culture's hand arrayed; Not reared in bowers where gales of fragrance blow, But in dark glens, and depths of forest shade! There once, as Venus wandered, lost in woe, To seek Adonis through th' entangled wood, Piercing her foot, a thorn that lurked below, With print relentless drew celestial blood! Then our light stems, with snowy blossoms fraught, Bending to earth, each precious drop we caught, Imbibing thence our bright purpureal dyes; We were not fostered in our shadowy vales, By guided rivulets, or summer gales -- Our dew and air have been, Love's balmy tears and sighs! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE NOTHING II by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE EXISTING POOL by HAYDEN CARRUTH STUDY FOR A GEOGRAPHICAL TRAIL; 4. NEW JERSEY by CLARENCE MAJOR THE WALL STREET PIT, MAY, 1901 by EDWIN MARKHAM DOMEDAY BOOK: MIRIAM FAY'S LETTER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |