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. . . .