Archibald MacLeish

Difference

I'd rather love the moon that will not see
Even my shadow beckoning to her,
Or sullen sleepy earth that does not stir
Under my lips, though they move loverly,
Or any heedless beauty that may be,
Water blown over with a windy blur,
Or ice that blackens where the ripples were,
Rather than you who are so free of me.

I never find your ways but you are fled
Running the subtle deer of your delight,
I never taste some whimsy thing you've said
But there's a tang of hills I never knew,
And when you come to me, white feet, O white,
And shining loveliness, it is not you.