When something vanished from her face,
When something banished its first light
It left a puzzle there,
And I wanted to go to her and say,
‘It is all imagining and will change,’
But that would have been too much a lie,
For beauty does reach some kind of height,
And those who hunger for her now
Tomorrow might
Have a less keen appetite.
Yet beauty sinks deeper than the flesh,
And men seeking only surfaces
Will never know
What it is they have let go.