The Look
Strephon kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all.
Strephon's kiss was lost in jest,
Robin's lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin's eyes
Haunts me night and day.
Commentary
A delicately beautiful little poem - I love both the central image, and the light, sure touch with which Teasdale develops it. And, as usual with Teasdale’s poetry, the combination of quietness and power, both masked by an apparent simplicity, is nothing short of impressive.
There is, however (and unusually enough that I wonder if I’m misscanning the poem), a slight roughness to the seventh line - I keep wanting to insert an ‘oh,’ after the ‘but’ to restore the regular iambic pattern. Comments?
Links
Biography: See Poem #113
Teasdale poems on Minstrels:
Poem #464, "Central Park at Dusk"
Poem #113, "Morning"
Poem #223, "There Will Come Soft Rains"
Poem #430, "Wild Asters"
— Martin