O I am homesick every day
For places I shall never stay.
For tinkling bells in Samarkand
Where shadows weave a saraband,
And London streets and Paris nights
And O a thousand warm delights
In places strange and far from here
And . . . (naturellement) doubly dear!
Cameo
I can't insult my heart again
By crying over gentlemen.
But rather trot it out to tea
With ladies of gentility,
Whose talk and bread sliced neat and thin
Will lift me from the straits I'm in!
Renegade
Part of me is sad as sad And part of me is glad as glad. Part of me is pure as pure, And part of me . . . I'm not so sure. At odds within myself I be, And blame it on my Family Tree!
Mask
You may make your mouth up
Scarlet as a courtesan's . . .
Thin sophistication
Lurks in scarlet paint
Even masked in satire
Still your eyes betray you
Playing tarnished lady
Funny little saint!
If This be Good …
If this be good
Then it shall last
Far past the rasp Of Sexton's spade . . .
Far past the snow of winter laid
On sleeping garden;
Some part of this will still endure
On Time's wide stream;
Some single sure enchanted moment
Caught up in space will shine forever.
And in my heart I'm very sure
Which little moment will endure!
Disenchanted