Yes, she had beauty, sure and clear Reaching deep in the eye, and calmly still That sort of beauty which invites the see'r To think of dying or retiring, all fulfilled.
Perhaps too beautiful to care, Like some confection, bringing hard remorse Seeming more appetite than truth Like guileful fire, painted on a screen of force,
Or musical deception, luring hearts away With the tones and rhythms of imagined hours, Lying delightfully about the end of winter Until the silence came, killing the flowers.