Verse > Anthologies > Harriet Monroe, ed. > Poetry: A Magazine of Verse, 1912–22
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Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936).  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse.  1912–22.
 
Knowledge
By Babette Deutsch
 
From “Semper Eadem”

NOW there is no confusion in our love—
For you are there
With the big brow, the cheek of tougher grain,
The rougher greying hair;
And I am here, with a woman’s throat and hands.        5
We are apart and different.
And there is something difference understands
That peace knows nothing of.
It is the pain in pleasure that we seek
To kill with kisses, and revive        10
With other kisses;
For by our hurt we know we are alive.
 
The tides return into the salty sea,
And the sea-fingered rocks are swept and grey.
There are no secrets where the sea has crept,        15
But the sea
Has kept its ageless mystery.
And we,
Beaten by the returning passional tides,
Searched by the stabbing fingers,        20
Washed and lapped and worn by the old assault,
Knowing again
The bitterness of the receding wave,
With renewed wonder facing the old pain,
We are as close        25
As one wave fallen upon another wave;
We are as far
As the sky’s star from the sea-shaken star.
 
Love is not the moon
Pulling the whole sea up to her.        30
And there is something darkness understands
These moons know nothing of.
 
 
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