Les Lauriers Sont Coupée by Elinor Wylie

Ah, love, within the shadow of the wood
The laurels are cut down; some other brows
May bear the classic wreath which Fame allows
And find the burden honorable and good.
Have we not passed the laurels as they stood--
Soft in the veil with which Spring endows
The wintry glitter of their woven boughs--
Nor stopped to break the branches while we could?

Ah, love, for other brows they are cut down.
Thornless and scentless are their stems and flowers,
And cold as death their twisted coronal.
Sweeter to us the sharpness of this crown;
Sweeter the wildest roses which are ours;
Sweeter the petals, even when they fall.

by Elinor Wylie

Other poems by 'Elinor Wylie'

Bells in the Rain

Death and the Maiden

Escape

Fire and Sleet and Candlelight

Incantation

Little Joke

Love Song

Madman's Song

Nadir

Nancy

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