Elinor Wylie, Black Armour: A Book of Poems (New York: George H. Doran, 1923): 16. PS 3545 Y45 B5 1923 Robarts Library
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.
Cf. Collected Poems of Elinor Wylie, foreword by William Rose Benét (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1945): 51. PS 3545 Y45 A17 Robarts Library
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