Poem by Elinor Wylie

* * *

Now let no charitable hope 
Confuse my mind with images 
Of eagle and of antelope: 
I am by nature none of these. 

I was, being human, born alone; 
I am, being woman, hard beset; 
I live by squeezing from a stone 
What little nourishment I get. 

In masks outrageous and austere 
The years go by in single file; 
But none has merited my fear, 
And none has quite escaped my smile.

1. Escape
2. Ophelia
3. Quarrel
4. Bronze Trumpets and Sea Water - On Turning Latin into English
5. Atavism

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