A speaker studies an old man standing under a wisteria vine, whose half-shut eyes and still face give away little. Yet the speaker senses a hidden tenderness in him: he tilts his head to hear wild geese heading south, and he grows sad when the last wisteria blossom drops. The speaker concludes that the old man must love beauty, since he has trained purple wisteria around his doorway and pinned a yellow jewel to his lilac gown. The mood is quiet, reflective, and a little melancholy, built on gentle observation rather than direct conversation. It captures how we read emotional depth in people who seem reserved, and how a love of beauty can reveal an inner life that a blank face keeps hidden.
Wisteria — Summary
Why do you peer at me, old man, With eyes half shut, From underneath the purple lanterns of your wisteria vine? Your face is but a mask, Showing neither joy nor sorrow; But I know you bend your head to listen When the wild geese go honking towards the south, And your eyes grow wide with sadness, When the last petal falls from the wisteria flower. You, too, love beauty, Or else why twine the purple wisteria about your door-posts, Or pin a yellow gem upon your lilac gown?