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That's a ripe example of Gravesian goddess-worship, Max. The anthology is growing. mj _______________________________________ But I am but a nameless sort of person (A broken Dandy lately on my travels) And take for rhyme, to hook my rambling verse on, The first that Walker's Lexicon unravels - George Gordon, Lord Byron ----- Original Message ----- From: "Max Richards" <[log in to unmask]> To: <[log in to unmask]> Sent: Friday, April 03, 2009 9:50 PM Subject: Re: [identify] poems by others Quoting Martin Walker <[log in to unmask]>: > O strange face there in the glass! > O ribald company, O saintly host, > O sorrow-swept my fool, > What answer? O ye myriad > That strive and play and pass, > Jest, challenge, counterlie! > I?I?I? > And ye? > > [author?] thanks for the above. I see on the Web this below is much taught still... Max Robert Graves The Face in the Mirror Grey haunted eyes, absent-mindedly glaring From wide, uneven orbits; one brow drooping Somewhat over the eye Because of a missile fragment still inhering, Skin-deep, as a foolish record of old-world fighting. Crookedly broken nose - low tackling caused it; Cheeks, furrowed; coarse grey hair, flying frenetic; Forehead, wrinkled and high; Jowls, prominent; ears, large; jaw, pugilistic; Teeth, few; lips, full and ruddy; mouth, ascetic. I pause with razor poised, scowling derision At the mirrored man whose beard needs my attention, And once more ask him why He still stands ready, with a boy's presumption, To court the queen in her high silk pavilion. ------------------------------------------------------------ This email was sent from Netspace Webmail: http://www.netspace.net.au