GIRASOLE

Of my very nature, as a flower to the sun, I turn toward beauty. Let beauty be In the form of a woman, I am undone

At once, beyond reason, and utterly.

They are silly-women-and slanted toward men, Lifeless mirrors which can only shimmer

As some man passes, then smooth empty again, While I elicit no slightest glimmer.

They are shallow, giddy, frivolous, vain, With almost nothing to talk about

But men (if they have one, they complain), Of how they are sought and singled out, And clothes, and the motley devices of charmAll matters which to me are a deadly bore. Imagine seeing the bracelet, not the arm! It is not the make-up but the face I adore!

I know her as she is, no measure of my dream,

And it does not matter. I only care

That when I am near her, her woman's gleam Tears my darkness like a sudden flare.

Of a hundred subjects I prefer,

I have no mind for aught but her.

one

Gabrielle

20