It is a breach too deep, As though a great impenetrable sleep Lay deep between. Perhaps it might have been Less difficult once when the world was young, But now across the span dark age is hung. The souls of women sleep, Behind their eyes. Men cannot creep Beyond their secrets, and should never try. They cannot know the reason women cry. It is too late or soon to penetrate Why some go fiercely and some sit and wait. I, woman, sometimes sit and stare Blindly at something just above his hair, Until his stirring makes me realize The questioning resentment of his eyes. And though I smile, the silence mounts so high, To utter my heart's weight would be to die. I know that this is so. I am too bruised with trying, not to know That men and women cannot bridge the span Unless there be a god-light in the man. And though we often ponder and surmise, We still are balked by one another's eyes. |