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- UPON A DYING LADY
-
- I
- i{Her Courtesy}
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- WITH the old kindness, the old distinguished grace,
- She lies, her lovely piteous head amid dull red hair
- propped 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 her,
- Matching our broken-hearted wit against her wit,
- Thinking of saints and of petronius Arbiter.
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- II
- i{Curtain Artist bring her Dolls and Drawings}
- Bring where our Beauty lies
- A new modelled doll, or drawing,
- With a friend's or an enemy's
- Features, or maybe showing
- Her features when a tress
- Of dull red hair was flowing
- Over some silken dress
- Cut in the Turkish fashion,
- Or, it may be, like a boy's.
- We have given the world our passion,
- We have naught for death but toys.
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- III
- i{She turns the Dolls' Faces to the Wall}
- Because to-day is some religious festival
- They had a priest say Mass, and even the Japanese,
- Heel up and weight on toe, must face the wall
- -- Pedant in passion, learned in old courtesies,
- Vehement and witty she had seemed -- ; the Venetian lady
- Who had seemed to glide to some intrigue in her red shoes,
- Her domino, her panniered skirt copied from Longhi;
- The meditative critic; all are on their toes,
- Even our Beauty with her Turkish trousers on.
- Because the priest must have like every dog his day
- Or keep us all awake with baying at the moon,
- We and our dolls being but the world were best away.
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- IV
- i{The End of Day}
- She is playing like a child
- And penance is the play,
- Fantastical and wild
- Because the end of day
- Shows her that some one soon
- Will come from the house, and say --
- Though play is but half done --
- "Come in and leave the play.'
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- V
- i{Her Race}
- She has not grown uncivil
- As narrow natures would
- And called the pleasures evil
- Happier days thought good;
- She knows herself a woman,
- No red and white of a face,
- Or rank, raised from a common
- Vnreckonable race;
- And how should her heart fail her
- Or sickness break her will
- With her dead brother's valour
- For an example still?
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- VI
- i{Her Courage}
- When her soul flies to the predestined dancing-place
- (I have no speech but symbol, the pagan speech I made
- Amid the dreams of youth) let her come face to face,
- Amid that first astonishment, with Grania's shade,
- All but the terrors of the woodland flight forgot
- That made her Diatmuid dear, and some old cardinal
- Pacing with half-closed eyelids in a sunny spot
- Who had murmured of Giorgione at his latest breath --
- Aye, and Achilles, Timor, Babar, Barhaim, all
- Who have lived in joy and laughed into the face of Death.
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- VII
- i{Her Friends bring her a Christmas Tree}
- pardon, great enemy,
- Without an angry thought
- We've carried in our tree,
- And here and there have bought
- Till all the boughs are gay,
- And she may look from the bed
- On pretty things that may
- please a fantastic head.
- Give her a little grace,
- What if a laughing eye
- Have looked into your face?
- It is about to die.
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