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That was how much I knew。 Poor little wretch！ I wonder where he is This
afternoon。 Out of this rain； I hope。
At last； when I had seen so many days Dressed all alike； and in their
marching order； Go by me that I would not always count them； One
stopped shattering the whole file of Time； Or so it seemed； and when I
looked again； There was a man。 He struck once with his eyes； And then
there was a woman。 I； who had come To wisdom； or to vision； or what you
like； By the old hidden road that has no name； I； who was used to seeing
without flying So much that others fly from without seeing； Still looked；
and was afraid； and looked again。 And after that； when I had read the story
Told in his eyes； and felt within my heart The bleeding wound of their
necessity； I knew the fear was his。 If I had failed him And flown away
from him； I should have lost Ingloriously my wings in scrambling back；
And found them arms again。 If he had struck me Not only with his eyes
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but with his hands； I might have pitied him and hated love； And then gone
mad。 I； who have been so strong Why don't you laugh？ might even
have done all that。 I； who have learned so much； and said so much； And
had the commendations of the great For one who rules herself why don't
you cry？ And own a certain small authority Among the blind； who see
no more than ever； But like my voice； I would have tossed it all To
Tophet for one man； and he was jealous。 I would have wound a snake
around my neck And then have let it bite me till I died； If my so doing
would have made me sure That one man might have lived； and he was
jealous。 I would have driven these hands into a cage That held a thousand
scorpions； and crushed them； If only by so poisonous a trial I could have
crushed his doubt。 I would have wrung My living blood with mediaeval
engines Out of my screaming flesh； if only that Would have made one man
sure。 I would have paid For him the tiresome price of body and soul； And
let the lash of a tongue…weary town Fall as it might upon my blistered
name； And while it fell I could have laughed at it； Knowing that he had
found out finally Where the wrong was。 But there was evil in him That
would have made no more of his possession Than confirmation of another
fault； And there was honor if you call it honor That hoods itself with
doubt and wears a crown Of lead that might as well be gold and fire。 Give
it as heavy or as light a name As any there is that fits。 I see myself Without
the power to swear to this or that That I might be if he had been without it。
Whatever I might have been that I was not； It only happened that it wasn't
so。 Meanwhile； you might seem to be listening： If you forget yourself and
go to sleep； My treasure； I shall not say this again。 Look up once more into
my poor old face； Where you see beauty； or the Lord knows what； And say
to me aloud what else there is Than ruins in it that you most admire。
No； there was never anything like that； Nature has never fastened such
a mask Of radiant and impenetrable merit On any woman as you say there
is On this one。 Not a mask？ I thank you； sir； But you see more with your
determination； I fear； than with your prudence or your conscience； And
you have never met me with my eyes In all the mirrors I've made faces at。
No； I shall never call you strange again： You are the young and
inconvincible Epitome of all blind men since Adam。 May the blind lead
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the blind； if that be so？ And we shall need no mirrors？ You are saying
What most I feared you might。 But if the blind； Or one of them； be not so
fortunate As to put out the eyes of recollection； She might at last； without
her meaning it； Lead on the other； without his knowing it； Until the two of
them should lose themselves Among dead craters in a lava…field As empty
as a desert on the moon。 I am not speaking in a theatre； But in a room so
real and so familiar That sometimes I would wreck it。 Then I pause；
Remembering there is a King in Weimar A monarch； and a poet； and a
shepherd Of all who are astray and are outside The realm where they
should rule。 I think of him； And save the furniture； I think of you； And am
forlorn； finding in you the one To lavish aspirations and illusions Upon a
faded and forsaken house Where love； being locked alone； was nigh to
burning House and himself together。 Yes； you are strange； To see in such
an injured architecture Room for new love to live in。 Are you laughing？
No？ Well； you are not crying； as you should be。 Tears； even if they told
only gratitude For your escape； and had no other story； Were surely more
becoming than a smile For my unwomanly straightforwardness In seeing
for you； through my close gate of years Your forty ways to freedom。 Why
do you smile？ And while I'm trembling at my faith in you In giving you to
read this book of danger That only one man living might have written
These letters； which have been a part of me So long that you may read
them all again As often as you look into my face； And hear them when I
speak to you； and feel them Whenever you have to touch me with your
hand； Why are you so unwilling to be spared？ Why do you still believe
in me？ But no； I'll find another way to ask you that。 I wonder if there is
another way That says it better； and means anything。 There is no other way
that could be worse？ I was not asking you； it was myself Alone that I was
asking。 Why do I dip For lies； when there is nothing in my well But
shining truth； you say？ How do you know？ Truth has a lonely life down
where she lives； And many a time； when she comes up to breathe； She
sinks before we seize her； and makes ripples。 Possibly you may know no
more of me Than a few ripples； and they may soon be gone； Leaving you
then with all my shining truth Drowned in a shining water； and when you
look You may not see me there； but something else That never was a
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woman being yourself。 You say to me my truth is past all drowning； And
safe with you for ever？ You know all that？ How do you know all that； and