A woman's hands, with polished finger-nail, Creeping like puffy spiders on green baize, Clicking the cards down softly as she plays. Plump, pampered hands! -- too lifeless to assail The keys Cecilia pressed, or glean the frail Ripe wheat that Ruth's hands gleaned! Forlorn I gaze On hands of card-crazed women -- how to praise, How glorify the dulness of their tale? Better for hands to swing the singing loom The Lady of Sharlot turned pensively; Or hold the gilded Book in a convent room With sad Francesca, listening to the sea; Or pluck the idle fruit which sealed the doom Of lily-fingered lost Persephone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...O SLEEP, MY BABE! by SARA COLERIDGE THE LAST SIGNAL by THOMAS HARDY THE ODYSSEY: THE GARDENS OF ALCINOUS by HOMER KENTUCKY BELLE by CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON THE HOUSE-WARMING; A LEGEND OF BLEEDING-HEART YARD by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |