til i breathe

there is a woman before me,
who, melancholy in her eyes, sighs.



no, i have not money,
to ease away the penury;
nor do i have sympathy,
to ease away the injury.

but then, a beckoning hand,
she looks earnest in the eye;
and hopes, perhaps, for a brief respite.

no, say i, i have no thing for you;
but the woman clings, sobs, and says

i have no friend but one:
my loneliness i find,
everyplace i try to run from it.
do not now let me languish
in this wrenching loneliness!
for now i have found
in you the crown and the fount

fool! say i, see you not?
am i not like you
in loneliness craved?

ah, said she --
but for that.
'tis a sure thing:
when we find each other
our loneliness shall flutter
and in a brief respite: vanish.

ah.
i see...