We like to listen to her dress, <br />It makes a whisper by her feet. <br />Her little pointed shoes are gray; <br />She hardly lets them touch the street. <br /> <br /> <br />Sometimes she has a crumpled fan. <br />Her hat is silvered on the crown. <br />And there are roses by the brim <br />That nod and tremble up and down. <br /> <br /> <br />She comes along the pavement walk, <br />And in a moment she is gone. <br />She hardly ever looks at us, <br />But once she smiled and looked at John. <br /> <br /> <br />And so we run to see her pass <br />And watch her through the fence, and I <br />Can hear the others whispering, <br />'Miss Josephine is going by.'<br /><br />Elizabeth Madox Roberts<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-beautiful-lady-4/
