Body and Spirit

The first night she was in her grave,

And I looked in the glass,

I saw her sit upright in bed—

Without a sound it was;

I saw her hand feel in the cloth,

To fetch a box of powder forth.

She sat and watched me all the while,

For fear I looked her way;

I saw her powder cheek and chin,

Her fast corrupting clay

Then down my lady lay, and smiled—

She thought her beauty saved, poor child,

Now down the stairs I leap half-mad,

And up the street I start;

I still can see her hand at work,

And Oh, it breaks my heart:

All night behind my back I see

Her powdering, with her eyes on me.