Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SONNET, by MAXWELL BODENHEIM



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First Line: Like wine grown stale, the street-lamp's pallor
Last Line: At rest because old memories have grown cold.
Subject(s): Old Age; Women


Like wine grown stale, the street-lamp's pallor seeks
The wilted anger of her scarlet lips,
And bitter, evanescent finger-tips
Of unsaid questions play upon her cheeks.
She sways a little, and her tired breath,
Fumbling at the crucifix of her mind,
Draws out the aged nails, now dull and kind,
That once were sharp loves hardening in their death.

And so a dumb joy tips her sudden smiles
At passing men who eye her wonderingly
And hurry on because her face is old.
They merely think her clumsy in her wiles:
They know not that her face is dizzily
At rest because old memories have grown cold.






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