Two Songs of Bitterness

Dear to me is Ruth, a bowl of crystal She brims her heart with laughter and I look And see her clear as the dew on a cobweb, Or green water over white sand in a brook.

Mary is dearer, color and story Are wound in her and like soft cloths unfold, And when she moves her footsteps are of silver, And where she will her touch can turn to gold.

Oh sweet as wine is laughter with the loving, And speech with the living good as bread, But only with a ghost can I feast in silence, With Eunice, who is dearest, being dead.

The princess that I could not be, The fairy that was not for me, The game begun and never ended, The castle dreamed, the play pretended. The note unsung, the word unspoken, Whatever I have lost and broken. My doll, my heart, my promises. All these things Eunice is — When I lie down with her to rest, I'll find my dearest and my best Safe in her dust beneath the sod. Kept fair and clear and written plain, And then I shall believe again In elves and knights and love and God.