Almost the shell of a woman after the surgeon\u2019s knife
\nAnd almost a year to creep back into strength,
\nTill the dawn of our wedding decennial
\nFound me my seeming self again.
\nWe walked the forest together,
\nBy a path of soundless moss and turf.
\nBut I could not look in your eyes,
\nAnd you could not look in my eyes,
\nFor such sorrow was ours\u2014the beginning of gray in your hair.
\nAnd I but a shell of myself.
\nAnd what did we talk of?\u2014sky and water,
\nAnything, \u2019most, to hide our thoughts.
\nAnd then your gift of wild roses,
\nSet on the table to grace our dinner.
\nPoor heart, how bravely you struggled
\nTo imagine and live a remembered rapture!
\nThen my spirit drooped as the night came on,
\nAnd you left me alone in my room for a while,
\nAs you did when I was a bride, poor heart.
\nAnd I looked in the mirror and something said:
\n\u201cOne should be all dead when one is half-dead\u2014\u201d
\nNor ever mock life, nor ever cheat love.\u201d
\nAnd I did it looking there in the mirror\u2014
\nDear, have you ever understood?<\/p>\n