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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=416202" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Iris</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=416202" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Not how you would be thought of, your color<br>Being grey, silky, like a second skin, your hair<br>Flecked with it. Now, hearing your way of saying<br>Iridescent while I read your poem, three years<br>After your death, I am compelled to check<br>You out in Ovid, Lamprière, Bulfin, then<br>A book of flowers, where I discover you<br>On marshy ground, not grey exactly—in fact<br>A pretty blue-grey, a quiet type, with a green cowl<br>To shelter the thoughtful inclined head.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=416202" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Not at all the bright-winged messenger<br>Who’d drown the world if Juno put you up to it,<br>But a quiet sylph, who could color her message<br>With a sly tilt of the head, those grey eyes steady,<br>Lips pursed, making a pretence of kissing.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=416202" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">You could supply so many ambiguities—<br>Gradations and streaks and tones of grey and blue—<br>That for twenty years I saw your story told<br>Where the sky lay on the wintry hills, weighed down<br>With tears Mnemosyne allows for you:<br>Flower, messenger, poet.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=James+Phillip+McAuley">James Phillip McAuley</a></strong></div>