I wrung my hands under my dark veil. . .
“Why are you pale, what makes you reckless?”
Because I have made my loved one drunk
With an astringent sadness.
I’ll never forget. He went out, reeling;
His mouth was twisted, desolate. . .
I ran downstairs, not touching the banisters,
And followed him as far as the gate.
And shouted, choking: “I meant it all
In fun. Don’t leave me, or I’ll die of pain.”
He smiled at me oh so calmly, terribly
And said: “Why don’t you get out of the rain?”