She sits in Quaker garb and seems to drowse, A plump, smug lady, with a placid air; You can't imagine roses in her hair Or sparkling eyes beneath those level brows. But whisper to her of a gay carouse She'll doff her cloak and on your vision flare White shouldered, scarlet clad, enticing, fair, Wide eyed and pagan as the law allows. Her domicile is prim, immaculate (That part of it which faces on the street) But in the rear you find a doubtful state, Cigar butts, bottles, marks of dirty feet, Where thieves and grafters hold rough carnival While she pretends they are not there at all. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SYNOPSIS OF A FAILED POEM by JAMES GALVIN THE BLACK RIDERS: 9 by STEPHEN CRANE THE TENT ON THE BEACH: 8. THE CABLE HYMN by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE POET: A RHAPSODY by MARK AKENSIDE MADISON CAWEIN by MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON FIRST CYCLE OF LOVE POEMS: 3 by GEORGE BARKER JERUSALEM; THE EMANATION OF THE GIANT ALBION: CHAPTER 2 by WILLIAM BLAKE |