The Last Word
You looked inside
For what the perishable flesh might hide;
And now you say that inner part
Will represent her in my heart.
I tell you no.
Philosopher, I say I loved her so
I did not dig within—content
When seasons came, when seasons went.
When she would frown,
You think I set the meaning of it down?
The meaning goes; but something stays
I shall have with me all my days—
Her forehead bare
One instant, then blown over by her hair;
A sudden turn; her hand at rest
Upon a window toward the west. . . .
This poem is in the public domain.