In a Drawing-Room
Around the twitter of the lips of dust
A tossing laugh between their redness ’bides—
With patient beauty yonder Attic bust
In the deep alcove’s dimness smiles and hides.
Two spirit things a man hath for his friends:
Sorrow that gives for guerdon liberty,
And joy, the touching of whose finger lends
To lightest of light things all sanctity.