She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleam’d upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment’s ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From Maytime and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.
I wanted the ocean in my sight, Now all I’ve got are watery eyes. Salt’s draining out in the tears I cry, It’s starting to sting But I don’t want to be blind.
She rattled the doorknob, letting her fingers linger on its porcelain surface as she turned to leave, as though by some gentle enough touch she could will it to open.