I heard them say, "Her hands are hard as stone,"
And I remembered how she laid for me
The road to heaven. They said, "Her hair is grey."
Then I remembered how she once had thrown
Long plaited strands, like cables, into the sea
I battled in -- the salt sea of dismay.
They say, "Her beauty's past." And then I wept,
That these, who should have been in love adept,
Against my font of beauty should blaspheme.
And hearing a new music, miss the theme.
Max Plowman's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Her Beauty by Max Plowman )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(26 March 1907 – 11 September 1987)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(9 November 1928 – 4 October 1974)
Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
(1207 - 1273)
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