Winter 1957 • Vol. XIX No. 1 PoetryJanuary 1, 1957 |

Corinna in Vendome

Darling, each morning a blooded rose Lures the sunlight in, and shows Her soft, moist and secret part; See now, before you go to bed, Her skirts replaced, her darker red: A color like your own, sweetheart. Alas! her petals are blown away! She lost her beauties in a day, Vanished like ashes in the wind. O savage Time! that what we prize Should flutter down before our eyes— Who also, late or soon, descend. Then scatter, darling, your caresses While you may, and wear green dresses; Gather roses, gather me Tomorrow, lusting for your charms, Death will take you in his arms And ravage your virginity.

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