Chapter 23
To Michael on Brushing Her Hair by Charles Williams Read for LibriVox.org by A. Vanoss Beneath the brushes from that low pale brow The lustrous dark hair falls aside to show a face Which some pre-Raphaelite should have loved and magnified
When sighing passion moved in his coiled quatrains of luxurious verse Or where his patterns glint on glint rehearse, I e'er turned refrain. What other poets praised so well such cheeks and perfect eyelids raised from such deep eyes of glamour. As they close beneath the soothing and swift passages, a sudden transmutation quite undoes that verse. Divine Victoria is dead
In that short lip are tracked new posies New rhythms along that small, preposterous head End of poem This recording is in the public domain
