| WHEN I see you, who were so wise and cool, | |
| Gazing with silly sickness on that fool | |
| You’ve given your love to, your adoring hands | |
| Touch his so intimately that each understands, | |
| I know, most hidden things; and when I know | 5 |
| Your holiest dreams yield to the stupid bow | |
| Of his red lips, and that the empty grace | |
| Of those strong legs and arms, that rosy face, | |
| Has beaten your heart to such a flame of love, | |
| That you have given him every touch and move, | 10 |
| Wrinkle and secret of you, all your life, | |
| —Oh! then I know I’m waiting, lover-wife, | |
| For the great time when love is at a close, | |
| And all its fruit’s to watch the thickening nose | |
| And sweaty neck and dulling face and eye, | 15 |
| That are yours, and you, most surely, till you die! | |
| Day after day you’ll sit with him and note | |
| The greasier tie, the dingy wrinkling coat; | |
| As prettiness turns to pomp, and strength to fat, | |
| And love, love, love to habit! | 20 |
| |
| And after that, | |
| When all that’s fine in man is at an end, | |
| And you, that loved young life and clean, must tend | |
| A foul sick fumbling dribbling body and old, | |
| When his rare lips hang flabby and can’t hold | 25 |
| Slobber, and you’re enduring that worst thing, | |
| Senility’s queasy furtive love-making, | |
| And searching those dear eyes for human meaning, | |
| Propping the bald and helpless head, and cleaning | |
| A scrap that life’s flung by, and love’s forgotten,— | 30 |
| Then you’ll be tired; and passion dead and rotten; | |
| And he’ll be dirty, dirty! | |
| O little and free | |
| And lightfoot, that the poor heart cries to see, | |
| That’s how I’ll see your man and you!— | 35 |
| |
| But you | |
| —Oh, when that time comes, you’ll be dirty too! | |
