now high, now low,
walks and weeps
as she should.
when an actor after
good men's hearts,
she faints, demure
with soft allure.
men should look not,
should fear danger so near,
upon that quite perfect face
which no tears may stain.
i sink with fatigue to
rough ground, observing:
her lidded eyes nicely
closed, quivering they wait.
i predict a feast tonight,
and on their pity she will eat,
as on her body,
again they fall.
i suppose they really
have no mind at all.
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