Philip And Phoebe Ware
Who is that woman, Philip, standing there Before the mirror doing up her hair? You're dreaming, Phoebe, or the morning light Mixing and mingling with the dying night Makes shapes out of the darkness, and you see Some dream-remembered phantasy maybe. Yet it grows clearer with the growing day; And in the cold dawn light her hair is grey: Her lifted arms are naught but bone: her hands White withered claws that fumble as she stands Trying to pin that wisp into its place. O Philip, I must look upon her face There in the mirror. Nay, but I will rise And peep over her shoulder ... Oh, the eyes That burn out from that face of skin and bone, Searching my very marrow, are my own.
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"Who is that woman, Philip, standing there..."
Exploring the themes of classic, Wilfrid Wilson Gibson delivers a powerful performance in "Philip And Phoebe Ware"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...