Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems/Malison
MALISON
I promised no reproach, Elise,
Though all thy flimsy vows were fickle;
My slender-necked anemones
Have perished by thy crafty sickle;
Well! let them go, though soiled and stolen,
And headless, too, as Anna Boleyn—
Ay, let them go, though debonnair
With hazel, poppy-perfumed hair.
I’ll not reproach, Elise, but I
Will make my malediction lie
Upon thee, feathery as a sigh;
Till from abysmal peaks of woe
My curse shall shroud thee with its snow;
Softly upon the forehead fair,
Crisping the poppy-perfumed hair,
Its winnowing ice-birds lilt and go,—
But no reproach, Elise, oh no—
Only the rustle of the snow!
’Twill skim thy throat not rude or redly—
Its dapper feet,
Slippered with sleet,
Shall into thy bonnet and bossom retreat
With a stinging like snow,
Which is woe—
Only my curse, my curse you know!
Not rude or redly—
Nothing but snow!
As shy—as smooth—as cool—as slow—
As deadly.