The pink and black of silk and lace, Flushed in the rosy-golden glow Of lamplight on her lifted face; Powder and wig, and pink and lace, And those pathetic eyes of hers; But all the London footlights know The little plaintive smile that stirs The shadow in those eyes of hers. Outside, the dreary church-bell tolled, The London Sunday faded slow; Ah, what is this? what wings unfold In this miraculous rose of gold? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO OUR MOCKING-BIRD; DIED OF A CAT, MAY, 1878 by SIDNEY LANIER THE SOULS OF THE SLAIN by THOMAS HARDY THE LADY AND THE SWINE by MOTHER GOOSE TOWERING OVER THE WRECKS OF TIME by JOHN BOWRING AUTUMN'S SPLENDOURS by CHARLES WILLIAM BRODRIBB THE EQUESTRIAN STATUE OF WASHINGTON by WILLIAM ALLEN BUTLER |