 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
VANITY.
I
False and fair! Beware, beware!There is a tale that stabs at thee!
The Arab seer, he stripped thee bare,
He told thy secret, Vanity!
By day a mincing foot is thine;
Thou runn'st along the spider's line:
Ay! but heavy sounds thy tread
By night, among the uncoffined dead!
347
II
Fair and foul! Thy mate, the ghoul,Beats, bat-like, on thy latticed gate;
Around the graves the night-winds howl;
‘Arise,’ they cry, ‘thy feast doth wait!’
Dainty fingers thine, and nice,
With thy bodkin picking rice!
Ay: but when the night's o'erhead.
Limb from limb they rend the dead!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |