As in sleeping-drink spices

softly she loosens in the liquid-clear

mirror her fatigued demeanor;

and she puts her smile deep inside.

And she waits while the liquid

rises from it; then she pours her hair

into the mirror, and, lifting one

wondrous shoulder from the evening gown,

she drinks quietly from her image. She drinks

what a lover would drink feeling dazed,

searching it, full of mistrust; and she only

beckons to her maid when at the bottom

of her mirror she finds candles, wardrobes,

and the cloudy dregs of a late hour.