Babette Deutsch

From “Semper Eadem”

YOUR eyes were strange with sorrow: were there tears

That touched their color to such troubled light?

Those mirrors wherein mine had shone so bright

Refused the image, looking on the years,

Like naked runners running upon spears,

That showed so impotently few tonight—

The pageant of a passion men requite

With death, and freedom whose chief wage is fears.

I would have outstared sorrow in your eyes,

But looking on them, mine reflected yours

As the most lucid pool shows stormy skies,

Cloud facing cloud, when deepest calm endures.

And though my lips had drunk your bitter wine,

You would have tasted bitterer, touching mine.