Ladies at Tea
Ladies at tea
Frighten me!
The tea is amber,
The ices lush;
But I always feel
That I'm swallowing plush
When the repartee
Becomes sharp and prickly;
I smile and nod
And agree too quickly;
And squirm for the victims
Slaughtered lightly;
And wish for a sign-board
To signal brightly
These welcoming words
To allay my fear:
"Chicken-hearted,
Exit, here!"
Ladies at tea
Frighten me!
Portrait
You walked in your drawing-room,
Your gown rustling like autumn leaves;
Its heavy folds of delicate silk
The colour of apricots.
You might have been the ghost of a great lady,
Your chin held rather high for one so small;
Or you might have been a frail fantastic figurine
In cloisonné, that had stepped down for a moment
From a Louis Quinze table.
Or then again, you might have been a princess
Who had lived most of her life
In a Fairy Tale for children.
Then you would have worn a little cap of pearls,
And your small enchanted hands
Would have been heavy with emeralds.
You walked in your drawing-room
In your gown of apricot satin,
And if you had disappeared into a mirror,
Or stepped back into a picture frame,
I could have believed in you!
Hill-top, Caledon
No, nor the green hills of Ireland
Couldn't be lovelier!
Beautiful, are the Caledon hills;
Green, like moss is green,
And gracious,
And ever-rolling.
And the little trees
That march down the sides of the hills
Are like trees
Cut from green blotting-paper.
They stand very straight,
And not very tall,
And their ranks are beautifully un-thinned.