When foxes eat the last gold grape,
And the last white antelope is killed,
I shall stop fighting and escape
Into a little house I'll build.
But first I'll shrink to fairy size,
With a whisper no one understands,
Making blind moons of all your eyes,
And muddy roads of all your hands.
And you may grope for me in vain
In hollows under the mangrove root,
Or where, in apple-scented rain,
The silver wasp-nests hang like fruit.
| Best Poems | Short Poems
Email Poem |
Top Elinor Wylie Poems
Analysis and Comments on Escape
Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem Escape here.
Commenting has been disabled for now.