Limp as a spent flame, and my skirt that clung
About my knees and fluttered at the back:
An injured moth, with sulphur stripes and black,
My bag flamboyant as a pillar-box;
My frayed gilt fringe of hair and tarnished locks.
Jagged and crude and swift I seemed to pass
Painted too brightly on. that temperate glass.
. . . An omnibus from sudden corner reels:
Silence lies mangled underneath the wheels.
About my knees and fluttered at the back:
An injured moth, with sulphur stripes and black,
My bag flamboyant as a pillar-box;
My frayed gilt fringe of hair and tarnished locks.
Jagged and crude and swift I seemed to pass
Painted too brightly on. that temperate glass.
. . . An omnibus from sudden corner reels:
Silence lies mangled underneath the wheels.
1915
61
