@3Moi, j'ai la lèvre humide, et je sais la science De perdre au fond d'un lit l'antique conscience. —Baudelaire, "Les Mètamorphoses du Vampire"@1 Marie, hand me a mirror; I must look To what the years have left me. Each one took Some charm, but still I'm glad the passing years Have left so little trace of all the tears I've shed. These wrinkles art may yet disguise From all but hostile or too curious eyes. I've really kept my figure very well, All things considered—more than one will tell You that I'm beautiful. I don't regret The past, and why should I want to forget? I claim that love, like life, is best when new— One night, a final kiss, and then—adieu! But to be well established, have in tow A wealthy legal lover? ... Well, I know That such a thing was never meant for me. If I am not content, I ought to be, For I, at least, have lived—a note you say, Marie? Ah, yes, the broker comes today. Fat pig!—if he but didn't try to sing! Who knows the profit that tonight may bring? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAST MAN: A CROCODILE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES EPITAPH ON HIMSELF by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE EPIGRAM: TO FOOL, OR KNAVE by BEN JONSON FATHER LAND AND MOTHER TONGUE by SAMUEL LOVER SONNET: 130 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE SCORN NOT THE LEAST by ROBERT SOUTHWELL |