Poems (Whitney)/Seaside

by Anne Whitney

SEASIDE.

Go wear your tortured smile; speak and say nought;
 Be laughed at by your diamonds—I prefer
My light, loose garb—freedom of face and thought,
 And this uncompromising thunderer.

What do I where you mince and compliment,
 And meet to hide the better, and deny
The deeper life within you?—I was sent
 To live at least in simple verity.

For your poor, famished lives of ostentation,
 What victims bleed of which you never recked!
The yearning heart of love—the aspiration
 Which makes us royal, the sweet self-respect.

But ah! I know the lonely hour will find you
 Sincere once more; to-night doth sadness wait
To fold you in her purple, and remind you
 Of your dead strength, your regal, lost estate.