Her Courtesy
With the old kindness, the old distinguished graceShe lies, her lovely piteous head amid dull red hairPropped upon pillows, rouge on the pallor of her face.She would not have us sad because she is lying there,And when she meets our gaze her eyes are laughter-lit,Her speech a wicked tale that we may vie with herMatching our broken-hearted wit against her wit,Thinking of saints and of Petronius Arbiter.
Sign in to like, rate and collect poems, and keep track of what you've read.