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Fearing, Kenneth (ed.) / The Wisconsin literary magazine
Volume XXIII, Number III (December 1923)

Zaturenska, Marya
Elegie on a Dresden china lady,   p. 17


Page 17

WISCONSIN LITERARY MAGAZINE
Elegie on a Dresden China Lady
By Marya Zaturenska.
Lay down your pretty toys, your fan
Made for the blandishment of man,
The ribbands, perfume, and the light
Jewels on throat, arms, shoulders white.
There is no need to smile or please,
Time fell on colder days than these,
But none that heed you less or care,
So ittle for your powdered hair.
Love with a graceful, shining zest
Played hide and seek in your white breast
The wor'd itself was a swift span,
Seen through the flourish of your fan.
Passion blew over you at will,
And left you sm ling, white, and still,
Leaving your delicate tints unblurred,
Your hands, your calm soft eyes unstirred,
For Passion kneels with coy respect,
To ways so clear and circumspect,
To eyes whose smiling gaze discloses,
A life-long path of garden roses.
We who are passionate, blood-begotten,
Are grown too old, we have forgotten
Your elegant serenity,
Flowing like an untroubled sea,
We hardly know that life can hold
A brighter treasure than bright gold,
As sloping gardens where bees flock,
Through pink, carnation, hollyhock,
Wide sheltered valleys, waters, hills,
Quiet's alembic that distills
A perfume rarer to forget,
Than lilac, violet, mignonette.
Blow then, oh pleasant garden flowers,
Over this lady, let soft showers
Of falling fragrance blend and meet,
At her fading fragrant feet,
At her ittle breasts and hips,
Eyes, and curving fingertips.
Let the drowsy humming bee
Boom above her noisily,
Let a little silver bird,
Make his song above her heard,
Let the purple lavender,
Like soft garments cover her.
Time brings other beauties; lime
Holds all beauty in sweet rhyme.
Then make small poems for her sake,
Who wil to quiring mus c wake,
When last trumpets shake the sea,
In the world's great elegy.
The Woman Scorned
By Marya Zaturenska.
You will never learn my heart,
You will never get to know me,
I will kill my pride, I will return
And ask for a kiss only.
I will be meek and quiet and gentle,
I will make your fire, and bake your bread,
But my outraged spirit will cry for revenge,
I shall do the thing that you now dread.
Oh I will make you need me so,
You will never be careless again and free!
And again and again you will come to me,
Driven by chains, I made insidiously!
17
December, 1923


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