Adrienne Cecile Rich | May 1929-Mar 2012 | American
from Roses in December
| Frances Parkinson Keyes | 1956
When you are old and beautiful,
And things most difficult are done,
There will be few who can recall
Your face as it is ravaged now
By youth and its oppressive choice.
You look will hold their wondering looks,
Grave as cordelias at the last,
Neither with rancor at the past
Nor so upbraid the coming time,
For you will be at peace with time.
But now a daily warfare takes
Its toll of tenderness in you,
And you must live like captains who
Wait but the hour before the charge –
Fearful, and yet impatient too.
Yet someday this will have an end,
All choices made or choice resigned,
And in your face the literal eye
Trace little of your history,
Nor ever piece the tale entire.
Of villages that had to burn
And playthings of the will destroyed
Before you could be safe from time
And gather in your brow and air
The stillness of antiquity.
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07-Nov-2011 11:32 PM