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Poem	Isn't she lovely, "the Mistress"? With her wide-apart grey-green eyes, The droop of her lips and, when she smiles, Her glance of amused surprise? How nonchalantly she wears her clothes, How expensive they are as well! And the sound of her voice is as soft and deep As the Christ Church tenor bell. But why do I call her "the Mistress" Who know not her way of life? Because she has more of a cared-for air Than many a legal wife. How elegantly she swings along In the vapoury incense veil; The angel choir must pause in song When she kneels at the altar rail. The parson said that we shouldn't stare Around when we come to church, Or the Unknown God we are seeking May forever elude our search. But I hope that the preacher will not think It unorthodox and odd If I add that I glimpse in "the Mistress" A hint of the Unknown God.
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