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First Line: The pomp of capitals long left to rust
Last Line: She would have throned it with semiramis.
Subject(s): Petrova, Olga (1884-1977)


The pomp of capitals long left to rust
Glows in her flesh and her ironic eyes.
Gazing on her, old pageantries arise
Of queens and splendid courtesans, whose lust
Was power to loot a peacock throne, or thrust
Satraps to battle for their beauty's prize.
Thus Theodora flaunted, and none otherwise
La Pompadour and Lais gone to dust.
Her wit is a keen weapon wrought for war
Against the grayness of democracy.
No broadsword this, but a bright scimitar,
Tempered in flame and edged with subtlety.
Her art is life; in braver days than this
She would have throned it with Semiramis.





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