Lady At A Mirror

As in sleeping-drink spices
Softly she loosens in the liquid-clear
Mirror her fatigued demeanor;
And she puts her smile deep inside.

And she waits while the liquid
Rises from it; then she pours her hair
Into the mirror, and, lifting one
Wondrous shoulder from the evening gown,

She drinks quietly from her image. She drinks
What a lover would drink feeling dazed,
Searching it, full of mistrust; and she only

Beckons to her maid when at the bottom
Of her mirror she finds candles, wardrobes,
And the cloudy dregs of a late hour.

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Lady At A Mirror