Bright Bindings
YOUR love to me was like an unread book,Bright-backed, with smooth white pages yet unslit;Fondly as a lover, foolishly, I tookIt from its shelf one day and opened it.Here shall I read, I thought, beauty and grace,The soul's most high and awful poetry:—Alas for lovers and the faith they placeIn love, alas for you, alas for me.
I have but read a page or two at most,The most my horror-blinded eyes may read.I find here but a windy tapering ghostWhere I sought flesh gifted to ache and bleed.Yet back you go, though counterfeit you be.I love bright books even when they fail me.
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