Classic Poem

She shaped her painted smile that night
Before the painted trees,
And postured in her drenching light,
And shrilled her song, to please
The night-worn city faces
With dull indecencies.

And then ... she nodded from her place
Across the smoke-drugged air
To some old man's attracted face,
Half-drunken in his chair. . . .
And sang him " Annie Laurie "
As if green woods were there!

That brave old song of moor-winds keen,
Of heather-breath, and snow,
Of love all-worshipful, and clean
Young faith of long ago. . . .
" Maxwellton's braes are bonnie! "
Poor child! How could she know?