Her Beauty

I HEARD them say, "Her hands are hard as stone,"

And I rememebred how she laid for me

The road to heaven. They said, "Her hair is grey."

Then I remembered how she once had thrown

Long plaited strands, like cables, into the sea

I battled in--the salt sea of dismay.

They say, "Her beauty's past." And then I wept,

That these, who should have been in love adept,

Against my font of beauty should blaspheme.

And hearing a new music, miss the theme.

Max Plowman