She has gathered and forgotten

More than you can give her.

All the little that you love her

Is a sound she hardly hears.

She will turn her eyes, her dark eyes,

Somberly upon you.

Perhaps she will begin to

Listen, waiting, tall, and very sill.

Then a door that seemed to open

In a wind that seemed to stir,

Shuts. Her eyes will tell how far

She has gone away from you.

Though you cry her name, protesting,

Begging, stepping forward,

Her voice will say, "So tired, tired..."

To strike you backward like a blow.

All your words are but the moment

While she lifts her hand, remembering,

Till, pierced with wondering

How such hurt can last, she lets it fall.