A WIFE I have never held in my arms, Though I have been ten years married, And am the father of children; Only the body of a woman Given to me by the law, and her father. Though faithful in every wifely duty, Her soul was not mine; Nor, I think, her senses. So I am no more widowed to-night Than I have ever been. Nay, less widowed; For in her dying glance She gave me more of herself— That inmost something which no embrace, No physical possession, can grasp— Than I had ever known. So I shall gather red azaleas, She may see, and understand, And know why I am happy. |