Classic Poem

Not proud, and yet perverse, you raise a shield
Of glass, which could be broken at a stroke,
Because you know that pain is but a joke
Made for the fatal relishing concealed
Within your mind, and for your feelings still
Impenitent, disarmed, and subtly white.
You came late to your trysting spot with fright
And found that he had lost his eerie skill.

Yes, you were late, and so your smile remains,
Not cruel, never kind, and always just
Evading clowns and monsters in the stream
Of people stopping you along your lanes.
The merciless extremes of rust and lust
Will never penetrate your naked dream.