Jean Toomer

(26 December 1894 – 30 March 1967 / Washington D.C.)

For M.W. - Poem by Jean Toomer

There is no transcience of twilight in
The beauty of your soft dusk-dimpled face,
No flicker of a slender flame in space,
In crucibles, fragility crystalline.
There is no fragrance of the jessamine
About you, no pathos of some old place
At dusk, that crumbles like moth-eater lace
Beneath the touch. Nor has there ever been.

Your love is like the folk-song's flaming rise
In cane-lipped southern people, like their soul
Which burst its bondage in a bold travail;
Your voice is like them singing, soft and wise,
Your face, sweetly efflgent of the whole,
Inviolate of ways that would feile.


Comments about For M.W. by Jean Toomer

  • Mohammed Asim Nehal (1/14/2016 1:33:00 PM)


    Your face, sweetly efflgent of the whole,
    Inviolate of ways that would feile.
    (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: song, beauty, people, rose



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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