Because my casement's open,
As I wait here for you,
Comes the faint Persephone
Trailing through the dew.
She has lived a thousand years,
Clasped her cosmic rose;
Why she comes to trouble me
Only heaven knows!
And there's another woman
Keeps whispering in my ear,
Till she has the whole house
Pierced through with fear.
Some wandering nun it is,
Whose lips can only pray,
Has made my house a cloister
In this dreary way.
And even now your taxi
Must be racing through the town.
(Will you love me, O my lover,
In this pale yellow gown?)
I have written out a sign
That I hope they will obey—
"For all Peering Women
There is no Right of Way."
SILVER SLIPPERS
I never wore slippers
On sweet April evenings,
But boots made for roads that we travelled in woe,
For morning and evening
Meant rough wayside places
And feet that were slow.
But now silver slippers,
Light-mannered, bright slippers,
Great mirror-like floors and a green velvet lawn,
Where we beckon with laughter,
With music, with dancing,
Sad youth—that is gone.