I had a little silver manikin
Who walked and talked and petted me;
I pampered him, he pampered me; we
Were convivial. On the gray streets
Of many a gray city he wept with me.
Oh then how miniature was sin,
How clear its purpose like a looking glass
To show me my young girl’s skin.

But I looked and looked again
And saw a blue cadaverous vein.
I will grow old, I cried,
You are a silver groom,
I will be a brown leather bride.
You are imperishable, still by my side
You will shine in the wine
That puckers my hide.

And in those sad reflections
I took a silver hammer made of words,
And hit him and he shattered like bright birds
Flying in all directions.
All night and all eternity I cried,
And in the morning by the gray light
I found his splinter in my side,
And when I drew it out, I saw it was glass –
The finest concave mirror, silver white
And backed with brightest silver. Oh alas,
He was a manikin of glass with all his light turned in,
And mirrored in the dark, the manikin.