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