A Lady
You are beautiful and fadedLike an old opera tunePlayed upon a harpsichord;Or like the sun-flooded silksOf an eighteenth-century boudoir.In your eyesSmoulder the fallen roses of out-lived minutes,And the perfume of your soulIs vague and suffusing,With the pungence of sealed spice-jars.Your half-tones delight me,And I grow mad with gazingAt your blent colours.
My vigour is a new-minted penny,Which I cast at your feet.Gather it up from the dust,That its sparkle may amuse you.