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...RETROSPECTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO RIDGELY TORRENCE - PLAYWRIGHT by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON BEAUTY THAT IS NEVER OLD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON BEFORE A PAINTING by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON ON VIOLET'S WAFERS, SENT ME WHEN I WAS ILL by SIDNEY LANIER ON CARPACCIO'S PICTURE: THE DREAM OF ST. URSALA; SONNET by AMY LOWELL |