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Title: Desire
Author: Edmund Vance Cooke [
More Titles by Cooke]
Oh, the ripe, red apple which handily hung
And flaunted and taunted and swayed and swung,
Till it itched your fingers and tickled your tongue,
For it was juicy and you were young!
But you held your hands and you turned your head,
And you thought of the switch which hung in the shed,
And you didn't take it (or so you said),
But tell me--didn't you want to?
Oh, the rounded maiden who passed you by,
Whose cheek was dimpled, whose glance was shy,
But who looked at you out of the tail of her eye,
And flirted her skirt just a trifle high!
Oh, you were human and not sedate,
But you thought of the narrow way and straight,
And you didn't follow (or so you state),
But tell me--didn't you want to?
Oh, the golden chink and the sibilant sign
Which sang of honey and love and wine,
Of pleasure and power when the sun's a-shine
And plenty and peace in the day's decline!
Oh, the dream was schemed and the play was planned;
You had nothing to do but to reach your hand,
But you didn't (or so I understand),
But tell me--didn't you want to?
Oh, you wanted to, yes; and hence you crow
That the Want To within you found its foe
Which wanted you not to want to, and so
You were able to answer always "No."
So you tell yourself you are pretty fine clay
To have tricked temptation and turned it away;
But wait, my friend, for a different day!
Wait till you want to want to!
[The end]
Edmund Vance Cooke's poem: Desire
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