Beauty has a tarnished dress, <br />And a patchwork cloak of cloth <br />Dipped deep in mournfulness, <br />Striped like a moth. <br /> <br />Wet grass where it trails <br />Dyes it green along the hem; <br />She has seven silver veils <br />With cracked bells on them. <br /> <br />She is tired of all these-- <br />Grey gauze, translucent lawn; <br />The broad cloak of Herakles. <br />Is tangled flame and fawn. <br /> <br />Water and light are wearing thin: <br />She has drawn above her head <br />The warm enormous lion skin <br />Rough red and gold.<br /><br />Elinor Morton Wylie<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/october-9/
