Xix

“Thus did you write me, or in words like these, When all was over and your heart was led, Through pity, haply, thus to justify Yourself, that needed not to justify, Since all your reason lay in four small words, Enough to wreck my world and all my life, You did not love: what more is there to tell?-- Yet, haply, it was this: One soul, that still Demanded more than it could well return; And, searching inward, yet could never pierce Beyond its superficiality. You did not know; yet I had felt in me The rich fulfillment of a rare accord, And could not, though the longing lay like song And music on me, win your soul’s response.

Were it well, lifting me Eyes that give heed, Down in your soul to see Thought, the affinity Of act and deed? Knowing what naught may tell Of heart and soul: Yet were the knowledge whole, And were it well?

Were it well, giving true Love all enough, Still to discover new Depths of true love for you, Infinite love? Feeling what naught may tell Of heart and soul: Yet were the knowledge whole, And were it well?