Collegia – Ode 63: Fog


Fog is like some clinging girl
Of writhing shape and yellow curl,
Vague, mysterious, veiling light,
Turning happy day to night.

Sapping mere male’s energies,
Forward, intimate, at ease,
Creeping round one on the sly,
Ever ready quick to pry.

Penetrating man’s domain,
Heeding not the murk and pain,
With woman’s curiosity –
Without, thank Heaven, her verbosity!

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