In Passing

THROUGH the dim window, I could see

The little room—a sordid square

Of helter-skelter penury:

Piano, whatnot, splintered chair.…

It is so small a room that I

Seemed almost at the woman’s side:

Galled jade—too fat for vanity,

And far too frankly old for pride.

Her greasy apron ’round her waist;

The dish cloth by her on the chair;

As if in some wild headlong haste,

She has come in and settled there.

Grimly she bends her back and tries

To stab the keys, with heavy hand;

A child’s first finger exercise

Before her on the music stand.