by Sara Teasdale (1884 - 1933)

To a loose woman
Language: English 
My dear, your face is lovely,
And you have lovely eyes,
I do not cavil at your life,
But only at your lies.
You are not brave,
You are not wild,
You merely ride the crest of fashion;
Ambition is your special ware
And you have dared to call it passion.

Authorship

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)


Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

This text was added to the website: 2009-05-31
Line count: 9
Word count: 51