Page:Captain Craig; a book of poems.djvu/145

Rh She last had looked at him—and yet not weep, Or even choose to look about the room To see how sad it was; and once or twice He winked and pinched his eyes against the flame And hoped there might be tears. But hope was all, And all to him was nothing: he was lost. And yet he was not lost: he was astray— Out of his life and in another life; And in the stillness of this other life He wondered and he drowsed. He wondered when It was, and wondered if it ever was On earth that he had known the other face— The searching face, the eloquent, strange face— That with a sightless beauty looked at him And with a speechless promise uttered words That were not the world's words, or any kind That he had known before. What was it, then? What was it held him—fascinated him? Why should he not be human? He could sigh, And he could even groan,—but what of that? There was no grief left in him. Was he glad?

Yet how could he be glad, or reconciled, Or anything but wretched and undone? How could he be so frigid and inert—