LINEAGE
Reading edition
I A tea-room girl, she carries a tray Through the day. Of consciousness there is in her face Hardly a trace, Beyond a droop of the lip or lift Of the brows in thanks for a generous gift. She is reserved, indifferent, plain; Yet with a something in her air Which causes you to look again At the wealth of her red-bronze hair. II Alone in her darkened room at night Robed in white, Sitting for hours in a high-backed chair, Stately and fair, With flashing eyes and lips proudly curled, In thought she’s queen of a beautiful world, Projecting, through a mental prism, Her dream of power and pride of race— The outcome of some royal atavism, Impossible to trace.