Could I divine how her gray eyes
Gat such cold haughtiness of skies;
How, some wood-flower's shadow brown,
Dimmed her fair forehead's wrath a frown;
How, rippled sunshine blown thro' air,
Tossed scorn her eloquence of hair;
How to a folded bud again
She drew her blossomed lips' disdain;
Naught deigning save eyes' utterance,
Star-words, which quicker reach the sense;
Then, afterwards, how melted there
The austere woman to one tear;
Then were I wise to know how grew
This star-stained miracle of blue,
How God makes wild flowers out of dew.
The Quarrel
Madison Julius Cawein
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Poem topics: flower, god, hair, sunshine, woman, wild, blue, shadow, wise, sense, brown, cold, tear, miracle, reach, divine, save, star, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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