F. S. Flint

From “In London”

I SAT there in the dark

Of the room and of my mind

Thinking of men’s treasons and bad faith,

Sinking into the pit of my own weakness

Before their strength of cunning.

Out over the gardens came the sound of someone

Playing five-finger exercises on the piano.

Then

I gathered up within me all my powers

Until outside of me was nothing:

I was all—

All stubborn, fighting sadness and revulsion.

And one came from the garden quietly

And stood beside me.

She laid her hand on my hair;

She laid her cheek on my forehead

And caressed me with it.

But all my being rose to my forehead

To fight against this outside thing.

Something in me became angry,

Withstood like a wall,

And would allow no entrance—

I hated her.

“What is the matter with you, dear?” she said.

“Nothing,” I answered,

“I am thinking.”

She stroked my hair and went away;

And I was still gloomy, angry, stubborn.

Then I thought:

She has gone away; she is hurt;

She does not know

What poison has been working in me.

Then I thought:

Upstairs, her child is sleeping;

And I felt the presence

Of the fields we had walked over, the roads we had followed,

The flowers we had watched together,

Before it came.

She had touched my hair, and only then did I feel it;

And I loved her once again.