Drawing-Room
Amy Lowell
In a dress all softness and half-tones, Indolent and half-reclined, She lay upon a couch, With the firelight reflected in her jewels. But her eyes had no reflection, They swam in a grey smoke, The smoke of smouldering ashes, The smoke of her cindered heart.
![[Poetry X Logo]](http://poetryx.com/images/poetryXLogo.gif)
