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. . . .