With lingering love she gazed at the dispersed
Colors of dusk. It pleased her utterly
To lose herself in the complex melody
Or in the cunous life to be found in verse
Lt was not the primal red but rather grays
That spun the fine thread of her destiny
For the nicest distinctions and all spent
In waverings, ambiguities, delays
Lacking the nerve to tread this treacherous
Labyrinth, she looked in on, whom without
The shapes, the turbulence, the striving rout
(Like the other lady of the looking glass.)
The gods that dwell too far away for prayer
Abandoned her to the final tiger, Fire