A woman's hands, with polished finger-nail, Creeping like puffy spiders on green baize, Clicking the cards down softly as she plays. Plump, pampered hands! -- too lifeless to assail The keys Cecilia pressed, or glean the frail Ripe wheat that Ruth's hands gleaned! Forlorn I gaze On hands of card-crazed women -- how to praise, How glorify the dulness of their tale? Better for hands to swing the singing loom The Lady of Sharlot turned pensively; Or hold the gilded Book in a convent room With sad Francesca, listening to the sea; Or pluck the idle fruit which sealed the doom Of lily-fingered lost Persephone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NIGHTFALL IN DORDRECHT by EUGENE FIELD SOMETHING BEYOND by MARY CLEMMER AMES HUDSON ASPECTA MEDUSA by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 98. HE AND I by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI SONNET: 78 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE IAMBICUM TRIMETRUM, FR. LETTER TO HARVEY by EDMUND SPENSER |