I may not speak till Eros' torch is dim, The god is bitter and will have it so. - Sara Teasdale

Your eyes drink of me,
Love makes them shine,
Your eyes that lean
So close to mine.

We have long been lovers,
We know the range
Of each other's moods
And how they change;

But when we look
At each other so
Then we feel
How little we know;

The spirit eludes us,
Timid and free–
Can I ever know you
Or you know me?

From my spirit's gray defeat,
From my pulse's flagging beat,
From my hopes that turned to sand
Sifting through my close-clenched hand,
From my own fault's slavery,
If I can sing, I still am free.

For with my singing I can make
A refuge for my spirit's sake,
A house of shining words, to be
My fragile immortality.

There is no sign of leaf or bud, A hush is over everything — Silent as women wait for love, The world is waiting for the spring.