 | The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown |  |
VI
Pretty? I think so;
Crushed, I admit it, and crumpled and bruised,
And smashed out of shape,
The poor little ape,
And sorely and sadly abused
Crushed, I admit it, and crumpled and bruised,
And smashed out of shape,
The poor little ape,
And sorely and sadly abused
62
Yes, I should say so—
Like a streamlet defiled at the source,
Condemned in advance—
Not a ghost of a chance—
Invertebrate morals, of course!
Like a streamlet defiled at the source,
Condemned in advance—
Not a ghost of a chance—
Invertebrate morals, of course!
Pretty? yes, pretty—
For the sighs and the sobs and the tears
Have got mixed with the mesh
Of her wonderful flesh,
And leavened the growth of the years.
For the sighs and the sobs and the tears
Have got mixed with the mesh
Of her wonderful flesh,
And leavened the growth of the years.
Pretty, and more—
For she sighs not, and sobs not, nor weeps;
But the sobs and the sighs
And the tears of her eyes
Dissolve in the physical deeps.
And they soften and sweeten the whole,
And in abject submission
To any condition
She fashions the ply of her soul.
For she sighs not, and sobs not, nor weeps;
But the sobs and the sighs
And the tears of her eyes
Dissolve in the physical deeps.
And they soften and sweeten the whole,
And in abject submission
To any condition
She fashions the ply of her soul.
| The Collected Poems of T. E. Brown | |