Songs of the Sea Children

by Bliss Carman




Thy mouth is a snow apple, 
Thy tongue a rosy melon core, 
Thy breasts are citrons odorous of the East. 
I know that nursery tale of Eden now, 
Where God prepared the feast 

Beneath the bow. 
I ask no more.

The apple-trees have whispered 
The only world I listened for 
Through all the legends babbled in my ears.

I know what manner of unbitten fruit 
The first man took with fears 
And found so sweet. 
I ask no more.