22

The Smith College Monthly

A CERTAIN WOMAN

ANNE MORROW

Jade on your finger;
Hair of beaten brass;
Thoughts like frost-crystals
On a pane of glass,
Like the shattering of icicles
Your laughter.

LETTER WITH A FOREIGN STAMP

ANNE MORROW

It was not fair of you to flaunt your days,
Your scarlet, fluttering days in front of me;
Bright taunting pennants, whipping me to scorn,
Hours of color you mention casually.
Why did you say "It seems like April now—
—Those chestnut trees—" You said "*When I have time*
I hunt among the bookstalls on the quai
For old dust-covered leaves of fragrant rhyme."
Why did you say "Last night I wore my shawl
—Mandarin red—I wish you could have seen—
And as I danced the silk fringe caught the light
—Some stranger stopped and murmured 'Rouge de Chine!'"
Oh use bright words with caution, fire is keen:
"Those chestnut trees"—"Some stranger"—"Rouge de
Chine!"