Always, when we meet, and you are
Leaving, as always the first
You are, your strange imponderable eyes
Unspeaking to me, as on the last, I go
My way, half-wondering: Who had
Been there that crossed again my
Sentimental shade? But, looking back,
Five lonely houses away from you, five
Memories more quiet than the last that
Always came, I speak again to you and
Cry with life for all our silences that
Scar the silent body of your name,
And we become the truth self-evident
In our pretending, the truth which counts
Alone, for truth, in one's, and only one's, forgetting.
I watch you and the daylight ascend
The evening stairways to your room,
Of all the shades your only choice,
And then I hear you speak my name;
The first assurance of the truth,
Born to image and lament the final voice.
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