Edwin Arlington Robinson (1869–1935). Collected Poems. 1921.
I. The Man Against the Sky22. Lisette and Eileen
“W
There was a word you might have said;
So never mind what I have been,
Or anything,—for you are dead.
Where he is, you’ll be dying still.
Your eyes are dead, and your black hair,—
The rest of you be what it will.
Eileen. You saved him. You are strong.
I’d hardly wonder if your kind
Paid everything, for you live long.
I mean you last as long as lies.
You might have said that word, Eileen,—
And you might have your hair and eyes.
Instead of this that has no name.
Your silence—I can feel it yet,
Alive and in me, like a flame.
Could he have known before he heard?
But no—your silence had its way,
Without a weapon or a word.
I’m going as a worn toy goes.
And you are dead; and you’ll be old;
And I forgive you, I suppose.
To something we have always been;
And you’ll be old.… He liked you, too,
I might have killed you then, Eileen.
As had a reason to be seen,—
As much as God made black and blue.
He liked your hair and eyes, Eileen.”