She wore a cold, hard lily on her breast, This nun; she sipped its sweetly acrid scent All day between her prayers; the perfume blent With her own lily bosom's parched unrest. She sang the anthems of the virgin blest, The brides of God; she sought enravishment Of soul-white adoration, but she bent Her head at evening like a flower distressed. Alone within her dismal cell at last, Writhing her hands in torment on her bed, She suddenly tore away and from her cast The lily, then caught back from out the past Another flower, whose warm, soft petals bled With passion, and whose very scent was red. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EMERGENCY HAYING by HAYDEN CARRUTH QUESTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE MAN TO BE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: OAKS TUTT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS NOTHING WILL CURE THE SICK LION BUT TO EAT AN APE' by MARIANNE MOORE |