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- I HEARD them say, "Her hands are hard as stone,"
- And I rememebred how she laid for me
- The road to heaven. They said, "Her hair is grey."
- Then I remembered how she once had thrown
- Long plaited strands, like cables, into the sea
- I battled in--the salt sea of dismay.
- They say, "Her beauty's past." And then I wept,
- That these, who should have been in love adept,
- Against my font of beauty should blaspheme.
- And hearing a new music, miss the theme.
- Max Plowman
Poets' Corner .
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