Page:Collected poems Robinson, Edwin Arlington.djvu/295

 Than harps, and all the morning stars together, When jewels and harps and stars and everything That flashed and sang and was not Vivian, Seemed less than echoes of her least of words For she was coming. Suddenly, somewhere Behind him, she was coming; that was all He knew until she came and took his hand And held it while she talked about the fishes. When she looked up he thought a softer light Was in her eyes than once he had found there; And had there been left yet for dusky women A beauty that was heretofore not hers, He told himself he must have seen it then Before him in the face at which he smiled And trembled. "Many men have called me wise," He said, "but you are wiser than all wisdom If you know what you are." "I don't," she said; "I know that you and I are here together; I know that I have known for twenty years That life would be almost a constant yawning Until you came; and now that you are here, I know that you are not to go away Until you tell me that I'm hideous; I know that I like fishes, ferns, and snakes, Maybe because I liked them when the world Was young and you and I were salamanders; I know, too, a cool place not far from here, Where there are ferns that are like marching men Who never march away. Come now and see them, And do as they do never march away. When they are gone, some others, crisp and green, Will have their place, but never march away." He smoothed her silky fingers, one by one : "Some other Merlin, also, do you think, Will have his place and never march away?"