Lift up your large black satin eyes which are like cushions where one sinks,
Fawn at my feet, fantastic Sphinx! and sing me all your memories!
A thousand weary centuries are thine while I have scarcely seen
Some twenty summers cast their green for Autumn’s gaudy liveries.”
The Prince said he believed I was somewhat like her. I told him indignantly I wasn’t, but maybe I am ... and he tells me I was the cause of the duel!
A. D. TO POLLY
Rome,
November.