The Sunshade

Ah—it's the skeleton of a lady's sunshade	
Here at my feet in the hard rock's chink
Merely a naked sheaf of wires!—
Twenty years have gone with their livers and diers
Since it was silked in its white or pink

Noonshine riddles the ribs of the sunshade
No more a screen from the weakest ray
Nothing to tell us the hue of its dyes
Nothing but rusty bones as it lies
In its coffin of stone unseen till to day.

Where is the woman who carried that sun shade
Up and down this seaside place?—
Little thumb standing against its stem
Thoughts perhaps bent on a love stratagem
Softening yet more the already soft face!

Is the fair woman who carried that sunshade
A skeleton just as her property is,
Laid in the chink that none may scan
And does she regret—if regret dust can—
The vain things thought when she flourished this

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