Arachne. No. 3
More violent only since their hands accomplish
so little meaning, frustrant then destroy:
Children ! children ! the bridges falling; the skies
a menace of fantails: and the decoy —
that foreign officer with suave accent, polish,
breathing upon his fingers in the frost.
They have stolen and hidden his gloves.
And do they remember histories
written, perished for less, and lost
in the rectories of time: such symbols love's
hands willingly (glass-slipper-myth) fitted?
Upon such meagre breakages have filtered
light of a dozen baroque domestic days,
and never the careless children mend their ways.