The Secret

Suddenly with a shy, sad grace

She turns to me her lighted face,

And I, who hear some idle phrase,

    Watch how her wry lips move 

And guess that the poor words they frame

Mean naught for they would speak the same

Message I read in the dark flame

    Within her eyes, which say, “I love.”

        But I can only turn away.

I, that have heard the deep voice break

Into a sing-song, sobbing shake,

Whose flutter made my being quake,

    What ears have I for women's cries?

I, that have seen the turquoise glaze

Fixed in the blue and quivering gaze

Of one whom cocaine cannot daze,

    How can I yield to women's eyes?

        I, who can only turn away.

I, that have held strong hands which palter, 

Borne the full weight of limbs that falter,

Bound live flesh on the surgeon's altar,

    What need have I of women's hand?

I, that have felt the dead's embrace?

I, whose arms were his resting-place?

I, that have kissed a dead man's face?

    Ah, but how should you understand?

        Now I can only turn away.