He smashed his hand
in opening a door for her,
and less pain than
embarrassment shrieked through him.
Concealing both,
grimacing as if theatrically,
he asked himself
who he thought he was to go
around opening
doors for anyone, much less for her.
(Ben Jonson)
More Poetry from Ben Jonson:
- A Pindaric Ode (Ben Jonson Poems)
- XIII: Epistle: To Katherine, Lady Aubigny (Ben Jonson Poems)
- Ode (Ben Jonson Poems)
- XI: Epode (Ben Jonson Poems)
- III: To Sir Robert Wroth (Ben Jonson Poems)
- To Penshurst (Ben Jonson Poems)