Stand on the highest pavement of the stair—

Lean on a garden urn—

Weave weave the sunlight in your hair—

Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise—

Fling them to the ground and turn

With a fugitive resentment in your eyes:

But weave weave the sunlight in your hair.

So I would have had him leave

So I would have had her stand and grieve

So he would have left

As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised

As the mind deserts the body it has used.

I should find

Some way incomparably light and deft

Some way we both should understand

Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of the hand.

She turned away but with the autumn weather

Compelled my imagination many days

Many days and many hours:

Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.

And I wonder how they should have been together!

I should have lost a gesture and a pose.

Sometimes these cogitations still amaze

The troubled midnight and the noon’s repose.