By one who knew the ways of womankind,
This woman’s face still keeps, in its cold wistful calm,
All of the subtle pride of her mind.
These long patrician hands, clasping the crucifix,
Show she had weighed the world, her will was set;
These pale curved lips of hers, holding their hidden smile,
Once having made their choice, knew no regret.
She was of those who hoard their own thoughts carefully,
Feeling them far too dear to give away,
Content to look at life with the high, insolent