Out of the window perilously spread
Her drying combinations touched by the sun’s last rays,
On the divan are piled (at night her bed)
Stockings, slippers, camisoles, and stays.
I Tiresias, old man with wrinkled dugs
Perceived the scene, and foretold the rest—
I too awaited the expected guest.
He, the young man carbuncular, arrives,
A small house-agent’s clerk, with one bold stare,
One of the low on whom assurance sits
As a silk hat on a Bradford millionaire.

Simplicity can be elegant
Poverty need not forsake dignity
Failure is often the foundation of success
Much depends on what we choose to see
In our here, our now, ourselves, the other
Each has its ugly angle
Each abides with God.