What you were lovely for
Was so I—I could adore,
And, with poetry, add more
Loveliness. That’s what your loveliness was for.
Your loveliness is yours:
Oh! many mansions, oh! many doors!
When you let me sit in your room,
I knew delicious comfort was my doom;
I knew I was the luckiest of men—
But I would never write poetry again!
So I removed your hand from mine;
I refused your pillows and your wine.
I fled! but I still adore, I still adore!
I’m writing more and more!
I built a house of harmony and metaphor!
Let the wine of regret and gratitude pour!
Let me writhe and lie and cry and die at your door
Before you open it. Please open it,
And see, again, what you are lovely for.