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| Image by Daniel Murtagh |
Elegy
for a White Rose
You,
wanton and hungry at the window.
Thou
still unravish'd bride of—beauty,
tempered by its frame.
You,
silk-delicate, white rose of summer,
your
peach skin, dark hair;
the depthless coves of
your eyes.
How briefly illuminated
to
the street, to the one glancing up
closing his red umbrella,
suppressing cloudy rising memory,
hurrying on.
hurrying on.
You,
spent breathlessness
of
ardor, lassitude of regret
and yearning prolonged--
Woman, Muse, the One
we
ache to touch and hold,
to burn ourselves into, in the way moth
marries white flame,
gone
on, with the gauzy dream
every
summer is:
kindled, then spent
youth is,
in
the roseate heartbreak of the dawn.
n.b.: the line in italics is that of Keats.
x
copyright Jenne' R. Andrews 2013
6 comments:
Your poem is lovely ... my favorite words 'gone on, with the gauzy dream
every summer is' ~~ so true.
Beautiful, Jen...especially love the touch of the red umbrella...
You have captured desire eloquently here....beautiful! :-)
Brava my dear, brava.
Why am I thinking Pygmalion here? Your imagery is captivating of that gentle walk and brief voyeurism not unknown to all.
I love the imagery... especially this line:
the One we ache to touch and hold,
to burn ourselves into, in the way moth marries white flame
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