Lady, Lady, I saw your hands,
Twisted, awry, like crumpled roots,
Bleached poor white in a sudsy tub,
Wrinkled and drawn from your rub-a-dub.
Lady, Lady, I saw your heart,
And altered there in its darksome place,
Were the tongues of flames the ancients knew,
Where the good God sits to spangle through.

Lady, Lady (1925)