Strong sun, that bleachThe curtains of my room, can you not renderColourless this dress I wear?—This violent plaidOf purple angers and red shames; the yellow stripeOf thin but valid treacheries; the flashy green of kind deeds doneThrough indolence, high judgments given in haste;The recurring checker of the serious breach of taste?
Edna St. Vincent Millay, Huntsman, What Quarry?
poetry, shame