YOU feel the witchery of Life, the call Of a disturbing beauty; you respond And view forbidden mysteries beyond The soul whose orbit seems to you so small. But I am not thus tempted: not by all Life's dear implied seductions. No, a bond Of thought subdues me; rather am I fond Of quietness, of safeties which enthrall; Of self-enshrining loneliness. I fail To make the gesture Life awaits; withhold A motion of the hand, a word, a kiss, A glance of plain avowal. Standing cold, Aloof, the tempered silences prevail, And steeped in dreams I lose authentic bliss. |