Upon This Earth

Looking by chance in at the open window I saw my own self seated in his chair With gaze abstracted, furrowed forehead, unkempt hair I thought that I had suddenly come to die That to a cold corpse this was my farewell Until the pen moved slowly upon paper and tears fell He had written a name, yours, in printed letters: One word on which bemusedly to pore; No protest, no desire, your naked name, nothing more Would it be tomorrow, would it be next year? But the vision was not false, this much I knew; And I turned angrily from the open window aghast at you Why never a warning, either by speech or look That the love you cruelly gave me could not last? Already it was too late: the bait swallowed, the hook fast