Exile II (after the Chinese)

 

My hands have not touched pleasure since your hands —

No, — nor my lips freed laughter since ‘farewell’,

And with the day, distance again expands

Voiceless between us, as an uncoiled shell.

 

Yet, love endures, though starving and alone.

A dove’s wings cling about my heart each night

With surging gentleness, and the blue stone

Set in the tryst-ring has but worn more bright.

 

— Hart Crane