A MINOR CHORD - John Swinnerton Phillimore Poems


Poems » john swinnerton phillimore » a minor chord


I shudder from your beauty. Hour by hour
I dread the time that comes and will not spare
The colourless strange yellow of your hair,
More fain than lips of lovers to devour
That thin wide mouth of yours, a sanguine flower,
A joy, a dream, a wonder and a snare!
That comes to shake into the driving air
Green leaf and pink bud from thine apple-bower.

I know that even as Autumn ere he goes
Spares neither lily nor rayonnant rose,
So time shall spoil and scatter shred by shred
Your face's worn white beauty hard and cold,
Shall wholly ruin your hair's sweet pallid gold,
And waste your mouth's fierce strip of poppied red.