Classic Poem

She wraps herself within herself,
Closely, as in a shawl,
And then she hurries down the street
And none of all
The people there who pass her by—
Spending themselves as they go
With a drifting scarf, a brilliant coat—
Can tell what lies below
The heavy folds of her reserve.
Not one will know though she
But covers a thinning garment lest
Their eyes should see;
Or whether she hides a flaming gown
Of fabric subtly spun,
Knowing those colors cannot fade
That never feel the sun.