Some mornings she was all about
Considering other chances;
Then she would shout; and he would shout:
Such were the circumstances.
But some fair day not long ago,
His mind’s eye veiled by brandy,
He did neglect her tremolo,
And hoped all should go dandy.
She, – gentle she! – did not protest,
Or glance in ways of fire.
She stood just there, in pause of rest,
No sympathy, no ire.
And something hushed then pierced his heart,
As stillness framed her figure –
Immobile grace so full of art,
Serenely ripe with rigor.
And as she cast no whispered word
His silence gently followed,
Unfettered, soft, and so unheard,
So equivocal and hollowed.
They facing stood, all things unsaid.
‘Twas silence’s pensive whisper
That brought her near to lay her head
And moved his lips to kiss her.