With Its Quiet Tongue

My heart—the wretched thing—is today

Cold, like those pale green mirrors

One sees in corridors . . .

They looked in with timid eyes, hungry

Perhaps for flattery, and smiled

Their happiest smiles before they

Walked away . . .

They left the mirror cold, and so

Beautiful; how much kinder to have

Left a great, sprawling crack, shaped

Like a spider’s web . . .

But why cry? or, why even gloat

In solitude? What does a woman lose

Or even gain from a love-affair?

The passions’ dying is not a death

At all but a sleep . . .

The night-wind walks my street

Tap-tapping, like a blinded

Man; its grief overcomes me; I crave

At this hour, not for faces that I knew

Or for the voices that I loved but

For sleep—a sleep which has like an Indian

Bride, proud loveless eyes

And a quiet tongue.