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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=447400" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In The Public Library</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Standing on tiptoe, head back, eyes and arm <br>Upraised, Kate groped to reach the higher shelf. <br>Her sleeve slid up like darkness in alarm <br>At gleam of dawn. Impatient with herself <br>For lack of inches, careless of her charm, <br>She strained to grasp a volume; then she turned <br>Back to her chair, an unforgetful Eve <br>Still snatching at the fruit for which she yearned <br>In Eden. She read idly to relieve <br>The forehead where her daylong studies burned, <br>Tales of an uncrowned queen who fed her child <br>On poisons, till death lurked, in act to spring, <br>Between the girl's breasts; who with soft mouth smiled <br>With soft eyes tempted the usurping King <br>Then dealt him death in kisses. Kate had piled <br>Her books three deep before her and across <br>This barricade she watched an old man nod <br>Over a dirty paper, until loss <br>Of life seemed better than possession. Shod <br>With kisses death might skid like thistle floss <br>Down windy slides, might prove at heart as gay <br>As Cinderella in glass slippers. <br>Life goes awkwardly so sandalled. Had decay <br>Been the girl's gift in that Miltonic strife <br>She would have rivalled God, Kate thought. A ray <br>Of sunshine carrying gilded flecks of dust <br>And minutes bright with fancies, touched her hair <br>To powder it with gold and silver, just <br>As if being now admitted she should wear <br>The scholar's wig, colleague of those whose lust <br>For beauty hidden in an outworn tongue <br>Had made it possible for her to read <br>Tales that were fathered in Arabia, sung <br>By trouvères and forgotten with their creed <br>Of love and magic. Beams that strayed among <br>Kate's fingers lit a rosy lantern there <br>To glow in twilight. Suddenly afraid <br>She seemed to see her beauty in a flare <br>Of light from hell. A throng of devils swayed <br>Before her, devils that had learned to wear <br>The shape of scholar, poet, libertine. <br>They smiled, frowned, beckoned, swearing to estrange <br>Kate from reflection that her soul had been <br>Slain by her woman's body or would change <br>From contact with it to a thing unclean. <br>Woman was made to worship man, they preached, <br>Not God, to serve earth's purpose, not to roam <br>The heavens of thought . . . A factory whistle screeched, <br>Someone turned up the lights. On her way home <br>Kate wondered in what mode were angels breeched.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Lesbia+Harford">Lesbia Harford</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=447400" data-title="In The Public Library de Lesbia Harford" data-description="Standing on tiptoe, head back, eyes and arm 
Upraised, Kate groped to reach the higher shelf. 
Her sleeve slid up like darkness in alarm 
At gleam of dawn. Impatient with herself 
For lack of inches, careless of her charm, 
She strained to grasp a..."></div>
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