Enough Rope1925Ghosts of all my lovely sins,Who attend too well my pillow,
Gay the wanton rain begins;Hide the limp and tearful willow.Turn aside your eyes and ears,Trail away your robes of sorrow,
You shall have my further years-You shall walk with me tomorrow.I am sister to the rain;Fey and sudden and unholy,
Petulant at the windowpane,Quickly lost, remembered slowly.I have lived with shades, a shade;I am hung with graveyard flowers.
Let me be tonight arrayedIn the silver of the showers.Every fragile thing shall rust;When another April passes
I may be a furry dust,Sifting through the brittle grasses.All sweet sins shall be forgot;Who will live to tell their siring?
Hear me now, nor let me rotWistful still, and still aspiring.Ghosts of dear temptations, heed;I am frail, be you forgiving.
See you not that I have needTo be living with the living?Sail, tonight, the Styx's breast;Glide among the dim processions
Of the exquisite unblest,Spirits of my shared transgressions,Roam with young Persephone.Plucking poppies for your slumber . . .
With the morrow, there shall beOne more wraith among your number.
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