SONNETS
OLD JEWELRY
A narrow band of velvet worn and frayed,
Its two ends prisoned by a buckle set
With yellowed seed-pearls, tiny cones of jet;
A cluster of pink coral surely made
To grace a dainty ear, though I'm afraid
The dangling pendant's lost. More precious yet
This massive golden brooch, its careful fret
With mellow-tinted cairngorms all inlaid.
What of the supple wrist the ribbon bound,
Perhaps a lover's gift? The rosy ear
That heard his plea? What of the "breste of snowe"
That throbbed beneath the brooch's shining round
The day she walked out bride? Alas, I fear
Dust of the churchyard long and long ago.
Its two ends prisoned by a buckle set
With yellowed seed-pearls, tiny cones of jet;
A cluster of pink coral surely made
To grace a dainty ear, though I'm afraid
The dangling pendant's lost. More precious yet
This massive golden brooch, its careful fret
With mellow-tinted cairngorms all inlaid.
What of the supple wrist the ribbon bound,
Perhaps a lover's gift? The rosy ear
That heard his plea? What of the "breste of snowe"
That throbbed beneath the brooch's shining round
The day she walked out bride? Alas, I fear
Dust of the churchyard long and long ago.