Caroling Dusk/The Eyes of My Regret
THE EYES OF MY REGRET
Always at dusk, the same tearless experience,The same dragging of feet up the same well-worn pathTo the same well-worn rock;The same crimson or gold dropping away of the sun,The same tints—rose, saffron, violet, lavender, grey,Meeting, mingling, mixing mistily;Before me the same blue black cedar rising jaggedly to a point;Over it, the same slow unlidding of twin stars,Two eyes unfathomable, soul-searing,Watching, watching—watching me;The same two eyes that draw me forth, against my will dusk after dusk;The same two eyes that keep me sitting late into the night, chin on knees,Keep me there lonely, rigid, tearless, numbly miserable, —The eyes of my Regret.