Please don’t! flash me that sycophantic smile— Like your mendacity I do not see, Like know I not your bottled bonhomie— When long traversed have I your endless mile, Known haunt of wraiths whose trust did you beguile, (Who but for you still jejune stars would be)— And dare you ask if I, for you, am free! Like ever I could mend as you defile.
And yet! how piteous a sight you seem, All wandering waiflike, tossed by tempest swell— For charm oblivion as a bludgeon wields, And soon it is again of you I dream— As from barbed chaparral blooms asphodel, We two tread graceless through Elysian Fields.
-Catherine Tween
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