Elinor Morton Wylie
Why should this Negro insolently stride
Down the red noonday on such noiseless feet?
Piled in his barrow, tawnier than wheat,
Lie heaps of smouldering daisies, sombre-eyed,
Their copper petals shriveled up with pride,
Hot with a superfluity of heat,
Like a great brazier borne along the street
By captive leopards, black and burning pied.
Are there no water-lilies, smooth as cream,
With long stems dripping crystal? Are there none
Like those white lilies, luminous and cool,
Plucked from some hemlock-darkened northern stream
By fair-haired swimmers, diving where the sun
Scarce warms the surface of the deepest pool?
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Comments about this poem (August by Elinor Morton Wylie )
- Water has central place, hasmukh amathalal
- Sunset, Littlewing28 Pani
- what is kinte, kinte allah
- Peace Inside, Spiritwind Wood
- how far can i go on?, fareeha ghafoor
- I came to you, Gert Strydom
- The days that are past, Gert Strydom
- When morning is BEST, Antonio Liao
- clear color, Howard MacDougall
- A festival...., PARTHA SARATHI PAUL