IV

2 0 00

IV

Her present image floats in to the mind⁠—

Did quattrocento finger fashion it

Hollow of cheek as though it drank the wind

And took a mass of shadows for its meat?

And I though never of Ledaean kind

Had pretty plumage once⁠—enough of that,

Better to smile on all that smile, and show

There is a comfortable kind of old scarecrow.