And do you think that love itself, Living in such an ugly house, Can prosper long? We meet and part; Our talk is all of heres and nows, Our conduct likewise; in no act Is any future, any past; Under our sly, unspoken pact, I KNOW with whom I saw you last, But I say nothing; and you know At six-fifteen to whom I go- Can even love be treated so?
I KNOW, but I do not insist, Having stealth and tact, thought not enough, What hour your eye is on your wrist.
No wild appeal, no mild rebuff Deflates the hour, leaves the wine flat-
Yet if YOU drop the picked-up book To intercept my clockward look- Tell me, can love go on like that?
Even the bored, insulted heart, That signed so long and tight a lease, Can BREAK it CONTRACT, slump in peace. |