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Updated: June 3, 2025
He recalled her as she was when he first loved her, the pretty little candy-store clerk, the lissome, living marble in her Greek tunic, the quaint, sweet girl who came to him in the Grand Central Terminal, lugging her suit-case, the shy thing at the License Bureau, the ineffably exquisite bride he had made his wife.
She was beautiful beautiful as an animal is beautiful. And her eyes were upon his. He staggered back, clutching at the door jamb for support. She laughed a little, lightly: "Just in time. You're going away. Bien. I trust you may have a very pleasant journey." She swung into the room, lithely, eyes upon him, vivid lips smiling. Rounded arms were clasped behind lissome back.
It was pleasanter, they found, to play together, and go neck and neck round the eighteen holes, than to take on some lissome youngster who could spatter them all over the course with one old ball and a cut-down cleek stolen from his father; or some spavined elder who not only rubbed it into them, but was apt, between strokes, to bore them with personal reminiscences of the Crimean War.
There was the cry of night birds in the creaking cupola, and the swift rush of dark wings past bedroom windows. Lissome shapes crept along the terraces between the stolid wooden statues, or, bolder, scampered the whole length of the great veranda.
The slim lines of her figure had the lissome development of a girl who spent her days out of doors. She stood there motionless, apparently lost in meditation, indifferent to the bitter wind which was driving across the moors with insistent force. "Put this on, Sisily." Sisily turned with a start.
With ears thrown back, brows contracted, mouth open, and glaring yellow eyes scintillating with fury, the cruel claws plucking at the earth, the ridgy hairs on the back stiff and erect as bristles, and the lithe lissome body quivering in every muscle and fibre with wrath and hate, the beast comes down to the charge with a defiant roar, which makes the pulse bound and the breath come short and quick.
A twist of gold was round her hair; a robe Of samite without price, that more exprest Than hid her, clung about her lissome limbs, In colour like the satin-shining palm On sallows in the windy gleams of March: And while she kiss'd them, crying, 'Trample me, Dear feet, that I have follow'd thro' the world, And I will pay you worship; tread me down And I will kiss you for it'; he was mute: So dark a forethought roll'd about his brain, As on a dull day in an Ocean cave The blind wave feeling round his long sea-hall In silence."
I mind the time I could ha' run nigh on a mile in five minutes, and ha' trudged my forty mile a day, nor scarce felt it. I reckon, Tom, lad, thou'rt not so lissome as I was at thy years. Well, to be sure! 'Tis all right; I'm only a good way nearer Home." They walked on together for a few minutes in silence.
Finally, both begged alms in the public streets; and the bones of each filled a pauper's grave. Whether we would have had Burne-Jones without Botticelli is a grave question, and anyway it would have been another Burne-Jones. There would have been no processions of tall, lissome, melancholy beauties wending their way to nowhere, were it not for the "Spring."
She was ruddily fair, with that luxuriant auburn-brown hair which goes with eyes of amberish-brown and freckles. These latter she had, I observed with a renewal of the thought of the country girls and the old district school. She was slender of waist, full of bust, and, after a lissome, sylph-like fashion, altogether charming in form. With all her roundness, she was slight and a little undersized.
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