At every little crystal square
Grave women creatures sit and stare
At what the day has done to mar
Frail personal beauty; puff and jar
And lip rouge tubes are taken out
To dye each thoughtful waiting pout;
No hurried smear . . . a careful rite
Then infinite scansion in the light.
The final look,
The little smile
Triumphant . . . careful . . . full of guile
Absorbed completely in her task
Each "Eve" adjusts her powdered mask!
Bend Your Head
Bend your head and kiss my hand
And tell me tales of Samarkand.
Weave a web of lovely words
That I may count like singing birds
That I may set upon my sill
When you have left me . . . As you will!
Promise
I shall not weep when you go
But don a scarlet dress
And I shall sing a gay song
And you shall never guess.
And I shall dance when you go
With other eager men
And make my heart forget you . . .
And you shall want me, then!
Remnant
You promised me Fidelity.
I got a ring -
I got a vow -
And now . . .
I got a ring!
Aware
I hope I never quite get over
The smell of rainy summer clover;
Or how a willow tree at night
Can make a silver sort of light;
Or how a child with lifted face
Can make a holy sort of place!