Hush thee, hush thee, dear little soul.
John Twig.
——:o:——
On Marriage with a Deceased Wife’s Sister.
O blood-bitten lip all aflame,
O Dolores and also Faustine,
O aunts of the world worried shame,
Lo your hair with its amorous sheen
Meshes man in its tangles of gold;
O aunts of the tremulous thrill,