Sanary

Her little hot room looked over the

Through a stiff palisade of glinting palms,

And there she would lie in the heat of the day,

Her dark head resting upon her arms,

So quiet, so still, she did not

To think, to feel, or even to dream.

The shimmering, blinding web of

Hung from the sky, and the spider

With busy frightening

Crawled over the sky and spun and spun.

She could see it still when she shut her eyes,

And the little boats caught in the web like flies.

Down below at this idle

Nobody walked in the dust street;

A scent of a dying mimosa

Lay on the air, but sweet—too sweet.