My dear and I, we disagreed <br />When we had been much time together. <br />For when will lovers learn to sail <br />From sailing always in good weather? <br /> <br /> <br />She said a hateful little word <br />Between the pages of the book. <br />I bubbled with a noble rage, <br />I bruised her with a dreadful look, <br /> <br /> <br />And thanked her kindly for the word <br />Of such a little silly thing; <br />Indeed I loved my poet then <br />Beyond my dear, or anything. <br /> <br /> <br />And she, the proud girl, swept away, <br />How swift and scornfully she went! <br />And I the frightened lover stayed, <br />And have not had one hour's content <br /> <br /> <br />Until to-day; until I knew <br />That I was loved again, again; <br />Then hazard how this thing befel, <br />Brother of women and of men? <br /> <br /> <br />'Perhaps a gallant gentleman <br />Accomplished it, who saw you bleed; <br />Perhaps she wrote upon the book <br />A riddling thing that you could read; <br /> <br /> <br />'Perhaps she crept to you, and cried, <br />And took upon her all the blame.' <br />O no, do proud girls creep and cry? <br />'Perhaps she whispered you your name.' <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />O no, she walked alone, and I <br />Was walking in the rainy wood, <br />And saw her drooping by the tree, <br />And saw my work of widowhood.<br /><br />John Crowe Ransom<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/overtures/
