She sits in Quaker garb and seems to drowse, A plump, smug lady, with a placid air; You can't imagine roses in her hair Or sparkling eyes beneath those level brows. But whisper to her of a gay carouse She'll doff her cloak and on your vision flare White shouldered, scarlet clad, enticing, fair, Wide eyed and pagan as the law allows. Her domicile is prim, immaculate (That part of it which faces on the street) But in the rear you find a doubtful state, Cigar butts, bottles, marks of dirty feet, Where thieves and grafters hold rough carnival While she pretends they are not there at all. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AUCTION: ANDERSON GALLERIES by LOUIS UNTERMEYER COCK-CROW by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS SONNET WRITTEN IN THE FALL OF 1914: 2 by GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY THE HAPPY WARRIOR by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH CHRISTMAS LULLABY by MARY KATUS ANDERSON |