A Proud Lady
Hate in the
world’s hand
Can carve
and set its seal
Like the
strong blast of sand
Which cuts
into steel.
I have seen
how the finger of hate
Can mar and
mould
Faces burned
passionate
And frozen
cold.
Sorrowful
faces worn
As stone
with rain,
Faces
writhing with scorn
And sullen
with pain.
But you have
a proud face
Which the
world cannot harm,
You have
turned the pain to a grace
And the
scorn to a charm.
You have
taken the arrows and slings
Which prick
and bruise
And
fashioned them into wings
For the
heels of your shoes.
From the
world’s hand which tries
To tear you
apart
You have
stolen the falcon’s eyes
And the
lion’s heart.
What has it
done, this world,
With hard
finger-tips,
But sweetly
chiseled and curled
Your
inscrutable lips?
Elinor
Wylie, New York Evening Post, October 1920
