Do I not deal with angels when her lips I touch?
She carries in the dishes,
And lays them in a row.
I know how furiously your heart is beating.
The bright drops ring like bells of glass
Never pain to tell thy love
Love that never told can be
In the hallway I listened to conversations
with her friends,
themselves a little closer to the end
Cruel children, crying babies
all grow up as geese and gabies.
Hated, as their age increases
by their nephews and their nieces.
Try as I like to find the way,
I never can get back by day.
Nor can remember plain and clear
the curious music that I hear.
He dwelt among “apartments let”
About five stories high