| |
I MOSTLY it is eyes that find me, | |
| And your eyes are gone. | |
| Shoe-strings I have little need of, | |
| So I pass on | |
| And let you fall behind. | 5 |
| I too am blind. | |
| |
II And you, my little friend of the gay dress! | |
| In a swift moment of encountered eyes | |
| I have touched your hand and kissed your wistfulness | |
| And looked with you upon eternities; | 10 |
| And I know that neither the powder on your nose, | |
| Nor the amazing things you wear upon your feet, | |
| Can alter the gentleness my spirit owes | |
| To vision of you, hurrying down the street. | |
| |
III I know you. You are one of those who fear | 15 |
| The certain end of their uncertainties; | |
| Who, never having had possession here, | |
| Still seek it in such transient things as these | |
| Bright windows looking into gaudy places | |
| Where there are wine-lists and long bills of fare, | 20 |
| And leaning girls with splendid shoulders bare, | |
| And intimate eyes, playing with passionate faces. | |
| |
IV In the concert hall | |
| You are the musician | |
| I the listener. | 25 |
| Here your fingers touch no bow, | |
| Make no music for me. | |
| We pass one another | |
| Silently. | |
| |
V I do not marvel so that you can wear | 30 |
| A flower in your tailored button-hole, | |
| As that the flower does not perish there | |
| In the Winter of your soul. | |
| |
VI When you have passed and other eyes | |
| Have found me with a new surprise, | 35 |
| I know I shall not call to mind | |
| The colored hat you wore, the kind | |
| Of dress nor anything so sure. | |
| Only your laughter will endure | |
| And come to me on other trips | 40 |
| Down other streets, from other lips. | |
| |
