The Mystery
Your eyes drink of me,
Love makes them shine,
Your eyes that lean
So close to mine.
We have long been lovers,
We know the range
Of each other’s moods
And how they change;
But when we look
At each other so
Then we feel
How little we know;
The spirit eludes us,
Timid and free —
Can I ever know you
Or you know me?
Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)
ART & Thoughts 
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