A part of me will lurch whenever I
Behold a face as beautiful as yours.
Another part, however, is not shy
About insisting that mere beauty bores,
And true delight lies only in the mind.
I try to shut that part away, because
It is too often caustically unkind
(The way I am, but do not wish I was)
And undervalues what a lovely face
Can also say. It has a bias there
Which has a tendency to just erase
Whatever flows out under waving hair
Or from a trembling lip. And yet it too
Has no objection to my loving you.
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