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Elinor Wylie (1885-1928)

Epitaph


              1For this she starred her eyes with salt
              2And scooped her temples thin,
              3Until her face shone pure of fault
              4From the forehead to the chin.

              5In coldest crucibles of pain
              6Her shrinking flesh was fired
              7And smoothed into a finer grain
              8To make it more desired.

              9Pain left her lips more clear than glass;
            10It colored and cooled her hand.
            11She lay a field of scented grass
            12Yielded as pasture land.

            13For this her loveliness was curved
            14And carved as silver is:
            15For this she was brave: but she deserved
            16A better grave than this.

Online text copyright © 2009, Ian Lancashire (the Department of English) and the University of Toronto.
Published by the Web Development Group, Information Technology Services, University of Toronto Libraries.

Original text: Elinor Wylie, Black Armour: A Book of Poems (New York: George H. Doran, 1923): 16. PS 3545 Y45 B5 1923 Robarts Library
Publication date note: Cf. Collected Poems of Elinor Wylie, foreword by William Rose Benét (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1945): 51. PS 3545 Y45 A17 Robarts Library
RPO poem editor: Ian Lancashire
RP edition: 2004
Recent editing: 1:2004/6/16

Other poems by Elinor Wylie

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