Ella Wheeler Wilcox (Элла Уилкокс)
Æsthetic
In a garb that was guiltless of colours She stood, with a dull, listless air- A creature of dumps and of dolours, But most undeniably fair. The folds of her garment fell round her, Revealing the curve of each limb; Well proportioned and graceful I found her, Although quite alarmingly slim. From the hem of her robe peeped one sandal- “High art” was she down to her feet; And though I could not understand all She said, I could see she was sweet. Impressed by her limpness and languor, I proffered a chair near at hand; She looked back a mild sort of anger- Posed anew, and continued to stand. Some praises I next tried to mutter Of the fan that she held to her face; She said it was “utterly utter,” And waved it with languishing grace. I then, in a strain quite poetic, Begged her gaze on the bow in the sky, She looked-said its curve was “Г¦sthetic.” But the “tone was too dreadfully high.” Her lovely face, lit by the splendour That glorified landscape and sea, Woke thoughts that were daring and tender: Did her thoughts, too, rest upon me? “Oh, tell me,” I cried, growing bolder, “Have I in your musings a place?” “Well, yes,” she said over her shoulder: “I was thinking of nothing in space.”
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