It captured me beyond the color's riot, The chime and clash Of crimsons, and beyond the petalled quiet Of ash to its own ash. It was a spray of white for me to borrow, A thought's cool rest, When a high noon knows but a fevered morrow, And I am unconfessed! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWENTY-FOUR HOKKU ON A MODERN THEME by AMY LOWELL LA PALOMA IN LONDON by CLAUDE MCKAY MY HUT; AFTER TRAN QUANG KHAI by HAYDEN CARRUTH MEMORY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON QUEST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO MAY HOWARD JACKSON - SCULPTOR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |