RELUCTANT LADY
The widely bruised, shy beauty of a brainThat renders dogmas bashful with its breathWill raise its last, wan offering to death—A poise of gossamer that takes the rainOf darkness, with an unexpectant pride.Your thoughts are old and yet too young for lifeWhose ponderous sneer preserves their curling strife.They wait for heavy spear-points, side by side.You are a wilted pilgrim on a roadWhere hills and rubbish-pits receive alikeThe skeptical remonstrance of your pace.You pass through towns and raise your thoughtful loadTo shield your loves against the words that strikeThe sheer, elastic trouble of your face.
The widely bruised, shy beauty of a brainThat renders dogmas bashful with its breathWill raise its last, wan offering to death—A poise of gossamer that takes the rainOf darkness, with an unexpectant pride.Your thoughts are old and yet too young for lifeWhose ponderous sneer preserves their curling strife.They wait for heavy spear-points, side by side.You are a wilted pilgrim on a roadWhere hills and rubbish-pits receive alikeThe skeptical remonstrance of your pace.You pass through towns and raise your thoughtful loadTo shield your loves against the words that strikeThe sheer, elastic trouble of your face.
The widely bruised, shy beauty of a brainThat renders dogmas bashful with its breathWill raise its last, wan offering to death—A poise of gossamer that takes the rainOf darkness, with an unexpectant pride.Your thoughts are old and yet too young for lifeWhose ponderous sneer preserves their curling strife.They wait for heavy spear-points, side by side.
The widely bruised, shy beauty of a brain
That renders dogmas bashful with its breath
Will raise its last, wan offering to death—
A poise of gossamer that takes the rain
Of darkness, with an unexpectant pride.
Your thoughts are old and yet too young for life
Whose ponderous sneer preserves their curling strife.
They wait for heavy spear-points, side by side.
You are a wilted pilgrim on a roadWhere hills and rubbish-pits receive alikeThe skeptical remonstrance of your pace.You pass through towns and raise your thoughtful loadTo shield your loves against the words that strikeThe sheer, elastic trouble of your face.
You are a wilted pilgrim on a road
Where hills and rubbish-pits receive alike
The skeptical remonstrance of your pace.
You pass through towns and raise your thoughtful load
To shield your loves against the words that strike
The sheer, elastic trouble of your face.