and splendid, lithe and male. Your scarlet turban
frames your neat black head,
And you are thinking.

Or are you?
Perhaps we only are stung with thought.
I wonder.

Shanghai


The Lady of Easy Virtue: An American

_Lotus_,
So they called your name.
Yet the green swelling pod, the fruit-like seeds and
heavy flower, are nothing like to you.
Rather, like a pitcher plant you are, for hope and all
young wings are drowned in you.

Your slim body, here in the café, moves brightly in
and out. Green satin, and a dance, white wine
and gleaming laughter, with two nodding earrings--these
are Lotus.
And in the painted eyes cold steel, and on the lips a
vulgar jest;
Hands that fly ever to the coat lapels, familiar to
the wrists and to the hair of men. These too
are Lotus.
And what more--God knows!