Page:The Yellow Book - 02.djvu/205



By Katharine de Mattos

EILED eyes, yet quick to meet one glance

Not his, not yours, but mine,

Lips that are fain to stir and breathe

Dead joys (not love nor wine):

Tis not in you the secret lurks

That makes men pause and pass!

Did unseen magic flow from you

Long since to madden hearts,

And those who loathed remain to pray

And work their dolorous parts—

To seek your riddle, dread or sweet,

And find it in the grave?

Till some one painted you one day,

Perchance to ease his soul,

And set you here to weave your spells

While time and silence roll;

And you were hungry for the hour

When one should understand?

Your