A WOMAN OF THE WORLD
I
As to my soul—'tis pathos and passion.
As to my life—'t hath a flavor of sin.
What would you have when such is the fashion,
Was and will be of the world we are in?
Yes, I have loved. And have you?—Have you reckoned
The cost of all love?—I can tell you: as much
As a soul!—Is it worth it?—You'll know it that second
You know that you love; and God pity all such!
II
My lover dissembled that ardor's pure beauty.
I endured undeceived nor pretended; and gave
All that his passion demanded—my duty,
For I loved. And the world?—why, I was his slave!—
Should it worry I pleased him?—Propriety sorrowed,
Uprolling her eyes as occasion, and—well,
That lie, overglossed with a modesty borrowed,
Assisted my fall and the end was—I fell.
III
Through love? No; the woman! that visible woman
Men usually know.—None knows how we know
Of an innermore beauty! that part of the human
We designate character.—Look at the bow
Of the moon that is new; that bears in its crescent
A world.—So the flesh gleams the slenderest line
Of soul; that is love; the unevanescent,
Making the mortal immortal, divine.
IV
Yes; I know what I am. Have outlasted my season
Of pleasure and folly.—You think it is strange
That I let you, say—love me? But why not?—my reason
Requires illusions. They give me that change
Which quiets remembrance. You kiss me—I wonder.—
When you say, “You are beautiful,”—well, am I glad
If I laugh?—You declaim on my form, “How no blunder
Of nature discords,”—If I sigh, am I sad?
V
How you stare at my eyes!—Well! my lips!—must they languish
For kisses to redden?—“My eyes are as bright
As the jewel I drown in my hair, with its anguish
Of tortuous fire that quivers to-night”?
Tears may be.—This showy?—That silly white flower
Were better?—For me its simplicity? no!—
The gem I prefer to the lily.—The hour
Has struck: I am ready: my fan: let us go.
