We like to listen to her dress; It makes a whisper by her feet. Her little pointed shoes are gray; She hardly lets them touch the street. Sometimes she has a crumpled fan. Her hat is silvered on the crown, And there are roses by the brim That nod and tremble up and down. She comes along the pavement walk, And in a moment she is gone. She hardly ever looks at us, But once she smiled and looked at John. And so we run to see her pass And watch her through the fence, and I Can hear the other whispering, "Miss Josephine is going by." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FAREWELL TO LOVE; SONNET by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE BRONX, 1818 by JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE TRANSFORMATIONS by THOMAS HARDY AFTER A LECTURE ON KEATS by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES BALL'S BLUFF; A REVERIE by HERMAN MELVILLE ODE IN MEMORY OF THE AMERICAN VOLUNTEERS FALLEN FOR FRANCE by ALAN SEEGER |