Powder Room

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!

Out of Loneliness ...

Out of a loneliness more deep Than quiet death.

Out of a sleep As cold as ice . . . more drear, more chill I hunger up toward dreaming; Fill my hands with flowers, Tread a measure against bright candles, Bare my throat to Autumn moonlight Cry to the stars that love rides by Against whatever midnight sky!

Chalk Talk

Sometimes I tell myself "Chumley! It's about time you acquired a little dignity.

Not much.

Just a touch.

Take to wearing a hat And the like of that.

Quit enjoying the society of youth in the formative stage In other words . . . "Act your age"!

I've gone into this subject with myself before But it's such a bore!

I know what will come of it.

One day they'll be saying "What a silly old person she is . . .

Flighty . . .

Maybe touched in the head" . . .

And will my face be red!

But I fancy in the final a.n.a.lysis We follow our natural bent.

So I shan't relent.

Dignity comes to us all Dressed in a shroud.

Forgive . . . if just for a little . . .

I laugh aloud!

On the T. T. C.

a.s.sorted people sit or ride Forced intimates: and "hide to hide"

As close as in a double bed They touch at thigh and arm and head And then get off . . . and go away To ride again . . . some other day!

Ode

If this is spring You can have the thing!

Old Hand