Superfluously Sabro

I am a librarian. I am not an old- maid. But sometimes I dream of wearing pencil skirts and cardigans and cat eye glasses and kitten heels.

Portrait of a Girl This is the shape of the leaf, and this of the flower, And this the pale bole of the tree Which watches its boughs in a pool of unwavering water In a land we never shall see. The thrush on the bough is silent, the dew falls softly, In the evening is hardly a sound. And the three beautiful pilgrims who come here together Touch lightly the dust of the ground, Touch it with feet that trouble the dust but as wings do, Come shyly together, are still, Like dancers who wait, in a pause of the music, for music The exquisite silence to fill. This is the thought of the first, and this of the second, And this the grave thought of the third: "Linger we thus for a moment, palely expectant, And silence will end, and the bird" Sing the pure phrase, sweet phrase, clear phrase in the twilight To fill the blue bell of the world; And we, who on music so leaf like have drifted together, Leaflike apart shall be whirled Into what but the beauty of silence, silence forever?"