See her expression in the windowpane
Ghosted among the tracery of frost,
And wonder at it. Sometimes she is plain,
Or, if not that, not overly embossed
With what the unaffected mind might call
The deep inlays of beauty. But when she
Looks in herself, and all unguardedly
Allows it to shine out of her, I fall.
For when I see unmoderated her
I cannot look away. It is so rare;
Move and the veil falls down. I do not stir,
But simply watch, and wish that I were there
And she still so herself. But if I came
She might remain, but would not be the same.
No comments:
Post a Comment