You are beautiful and faded 
Like an old opera tune 
Played upon a harpsichord; 
Or like the sun-flooded silks 
Of an eighteenth-century boudoir. 
In your eyes 
Smoulder the fallen roses of out-lived minutes, 
And the perfume of your soul 
Is vague and suffusing, 
With the pungence of sealed spice-jars. 
Your half-tones delight me, 
And I grow mad with gazing 
At your blent colours. 

My vigour is a new-minted penny, 
Which I cast at your feet. 
Gather it up from the dust, 
That its sparkle may amuse you.