A Flirted Fan
A flirted fan of blade and gold
Is wondrous winsome to behold:
It seems an armoured shard to bear
The Emperor-Scarab—strange and rare,
Metallic, lustrous, jewel-cold.
Fawning and fluttering fold on fold
And scale on scale, its charm unrolled,
Lures, dazzles, slays. It thrills the air,
A flirted fan!
Ah me, that night... I cannot scold—
Ich grolle nicht! My grief untold
Shall still remain, but I will swear
Some Spanish grace, dissembled there,
Stood by her stall, she so controlled
A flirted fan.
W. E. Henley.