er before has been,
And here is there what there is here begun.

PORTRAITS OF MABEL DODGE

_To
Louis Sherwin_

HER SMILE

_Laggan_

Her hidden smile was full of little breasts,
And with her too white hands she stroked her fears,
The while the serpent peered at her arched ears,
And night's grim hours stalked in, unbidden guests.
A noise was in her eyes that sang of scorn,
And round her voice there gleamed a nameless dread,
As though her lips were hungry for the dead,
Yet knew the food of dawn would be forlorn.

The cold hours ebbed, and still she held her throne;
Across the sky the lightning made mad play,
And then the scarlet screams stood forth revealed.
She turned her back, and grasped a monotone;
It answered all; she lived again that day
She triumphed in the tragic turnip field.

THE LAST DANCE AT DAWN

_Firenze_

And she was sad since she could not be sad,
And every star fled amorous from the sky.
Her pampered knees fell under her keen eye
And it came to her she would not go mad.
The gaucheries were turning the last screw,
But there was still the island in the sea,
The harridan chorus of eternity,
That let her smile because he saw she knew.

She even dared be impudent again,
And bit his ear; the deaths were far away.
A Black Mass sounded from the treasure vaults--
She tried to rouge her heart, yet quite in vain.
The crucifix danced in, beribboned, gay,
And lisped to her a wish for the next waltz.

PORTRAIT OF CARL VAN VECHTEN

_To
Gertrude Stein_

IN THE GENTLEMANLY INTEREST

_Piccadilly_

He polished snubs till they were regnant art,
Curling their shameless toilets round the hour.
Each lay upon his lips an exquisite flower
Subtly malign and poisoned for its part.
The path of victims was no wanton plan--
He had bowed his head in sorrow at his birth,
For he had said long ere he came to earth
That it was no place for a gentleman.

But always a heart-scald lurked behind the screen,
And somehow he missed the ultimate degrees.
He saw a beggar at the daylight's fall
And then he rose and robbed him for the scene;
And when they called him cad he found release--
He felt he had used the finest snub of all.

PORTRAITS OF LOUISE NORTON

_To
Donald Evans_

BUVEUSE