To make One’s Toilette—after Death
Has made the Toilette cool
Of only Taste we cared to please
Is difficult, and still—
That’s easier—than Braid the Hair—
And make the Bodice gay—
When eyes that fondled it are wrenched
By Decalogues—away—
To make One’s Toilette—after Death
Has made the Toilette cool
Of only Taste we cared to please
Is difficult, and still—
That’s easier—than Braid the Hair—
And make the Bodice gay—
When eyes that fondled it are wrenched
By Decalogues—away—