Explore "The Dead Wanton" by Helen Hay Whitney on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
She was so light, so frail a thing, She had no wisdom but her face, Which caught men's fancy like the Spring Yet held them but a moment's space.
She is the youngest of the dead, And so the great lean round her feet; They strive to learn from her fair head Why far-forgotten life was sweet.
For now she knows what Plato knows, And lapped in languor she agrees With Kant, and as her soft hair blows, Smiling, she flouts Demosthenes.