Classic Poem

Dimpled of cheek and grave of gown,
A maid of whom this world has dearth,
She walks the streets of that old town,
And makes them mellow with her mirth.

The hoary roofs grow young with cheer,
The windows brighten pane by pane;
And haunted by her laughter dear,
To bud the shriveled boughs are fain.

The painted ladies of the age,
Flaunt past her oversweet with musk;
But she trips on with scent of sage
Blown out some yard at fall of dusk.

These painted dames of Hester's time —
When they are laid by churchyard doors,
She will laugh on in English rhyme,
And she be known on alien shores.