'MY stick!' he says, and turns in the lane To the house just left, whence a vixen voice Comes out with the firelight through the pane, And he sees within that the girl of his choice Stands rating her mother with eyes aglare For something said while he was there. 'At last I behold her soul undraped!' Thinks the man who had loved her more than himself; 'My God! - 'tis but narrowly I have escaped. - My precious porcelain proves it delf.' His face has reddened like one ashamed, And he steals off, leaving his stick unclaimed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE EXECUTIVE by DAVID IGNATOW DELUSION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE GIFT TO SING by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON CHAMBER MUSIC: 8 by JAMES JOYCE SPRING WIND IN LONDON by KATHERINE MANSFIELD IN THE DAYS OF PRISMATIC COLOR by MARIANNE MOORE |