I SAW her after many years.
The blue-black hair that had swept to her knees
Was dull and grey. No one would turn
To look at her thin face worn with tears.
I felt my own wet eyelids burn,
For she had been queen of my memories.

She had had a face as bright as the sun.
'Now she is broken and crushed,' I said.
'The demon of mischief that lurked before
In her hazel eyes is beaten and done.
I hope we never meet any more,
For the thing I loved best in her is dead.'

But then she turned and smiled at me,
And looking out of that mask of pain
The laughing imp behind her eyes
Was just as gay as it used to be.
That kind of a devil never dies.
I put her back on her throne again.