The Sunshade

Ah - it's the skeleton of a lady's sunshade,      Here at my feet in the hard rock's chink,      Merely a naked sheaf of wires! -      Twenty years have gone with their livers and diers      Since it was silked in its white or pink.     Noonshine riddles the ribs of the sunshade,      No more a screen from the weakest ray;      Nothing to tell us the hue of its dyes,      Nothing but rusty bones as it lies      In its coffin of stone, unseen till to-day.     Where is the woman who carried that sun-shade      Up and down this seaside place? -      Little thumb standing against its stem,      Thoughts perhaps bent on a love-stratagem,      Softening yet more the already soft face!     Is the fair woman who carried that sunshade      A skeleton just as her property is,      Laid in the chink that none may scan?      And does she regret - if regret dust can -      The vain things thought when she flourished this?     SWANAGE CLIFFS.