Strange that a smile <br />Should slide away like that <br />As though fallen from her face <br /> <br />That blue-bright eyes could change <br />Like that to grey-and draw their shutters <br />All before the paleness fell <br />And washed her into whiteness <br /> <br />Never our words could be unspoken now <br />Or taken back, nor this, the stricken hour <br /> <br />Be stricken from me <br />Nor any reach of heaven <br />Hold this hell<br /><br />Isabelle Cooper<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/our-last-quarrel/
