(7 September 1885 – 16 December 1928 / Somerville, New Jersey)

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Beauty

Say not of beauty she is good,
Or aught but beautiful,
Or sleek to doves' wings of the wood
Her wild wings of a gull.

Call her not wicked; that word's touch
Consumes her like a curse;
But love her not too much, too much,
For that is even worse.

O, she is neither good nor bad,
But innocent and wild!
Enshrine her and she dies, who had
The hard heart of a child.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003


Read poems about / on: beautiful, child, beauty, heart, love, children

Comments about this poem (Beauty by Elinor Morton Wylie )

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  • Emily Pearl (7/30/2006 1:59:00 PM)

    Well, with a name like Wylie/Wyllie, how could you go wrong, the strong the brave, the scottish wave-from me to you, ya stylish gurl, fined in pen, adored the swirl
    Love- Duncan The Part Scot XXXXXXX

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