Betrothed

You have put your two hands upon me, and your mouth,

You have said my name as a prayer.

Here where trees are planted by the water

I have watched your eyes, cleansed from regret,

And your lips, closed over all that love cannot say,

 

         My mother remembers the agony of her womb

         And long years that seemed to promise more than this.

         She says, “You do not love me,

         You do not want me,

         You will go away.”

 

         In the country whereto I go

         I shall not see the face of my friend

         Nor her hair the color of sunburnt grasses;

         Together we shall not find

         The land on whose hills bends the new moon

         In air traversed of birds.

         

What have I thought of love?

I have said, “It is beauty and sorrow.”

I have thought that it would bring me lost delights, and splendor

As a wind out of old time. . .

 

But there is only the evening here,

And the sound of willows

Now and again dipping their long oval leaves in the water.