The Last Supper
Marie Vaux of the Painted Lips,
And the mouth so mocking gay,
A wanton you to the finger—tips,
Who break men’s hearts in play;
A thing of dust I have striven for,
Honour and manhood given for,
Headlong to ruin driven for,
And this is the last, you say. . . .
Drinking your wine with dainty sips,
Marie Vaux of the Painted Lips.
Marie Vaux of the Painted Lips,
ong have you held your sway;
I have laughed at your merry quips —
Now is my time to pay.
What we sow we must reap again;
When we laugh we must weep again;
So to—night we will sleep again,
Nor wake until Judgement Day. . . .
'Tis a poisoned wine that your palate lips,
Marie Vaux of the Painted Lips.
Marie Vaux of the Painted Lips,
Down on your knees and pray;
Pray your last ere the moment slips,
Pray ere the dark and the terror grips,
And the bright world fades away.
Pray for the peace and the rest of us:
Here comes the Shape in quest of us,
Now we must go away. . . .
You and I in the grave’s eclipse,
Marie Vaux of the painted Lips.
Other works by Robert W. Service...
