Her voice was darker than of old; Her hair lacked melody; Her feet at times were shrill and cold, And wandered from the key. Her gown was tuneful, sweet and low, Cut scherzo to the waist, With semi-quavers row on row In soft, melodious taste. Her gestures were inclined to flat, Regardless of their hue. Her trills were ambidextrous, fat And slightly tinged with blue. Her phrasing was a shade too brown, And though superbly placed, Her smile was loud enough to drown The roses at her waist. The programme was perhaps a bit Too blonde for her ambition -- Only one number scored a hit, And that was @3Intermission@1. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ESSAY: AT NIGHT THE AUTOPORTRAIT AT NIGHT by ELENI SIKELIANOS A WINTER BLUEJAY by SARA TEASDALE DEDICATION FOR A PLOT OF GROUND by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS A NOCTURNAL REVERIE by ANNE FINCH ACCIDENT IN ART by RICHARD HOVEY BIRD CONVERSATIONS, SELECTION by FARID OD-DIN MOHAMMAD EBN EBRAHIM ATTAR ANNA BULLEN, ACT 1: SHORT CURSE by JOHN BANKS (17TH CENTURY-) |