There's in my mind a womanof innocence, unadorned butfair-featured and smelling ofapples or grass.
She wearsa utopian smock or shift, her hairis light brown and smooth, and sheis kind and very clean withoutostentation-but she hasno
And there's aturbulent moon-ridden girlor old woman, or both,dressed in opals and rags, feathersand torn taffeta,who knows strange songsbut she is not kind.
