Sara Teasdale

The Mystery

  Your eyes drink of me,
   Love makes them shine,
  Your eyes that lean
   So close to mine.

  We have long been lovers,
   We know the range
  Of each other's moods
   And how they change;

  But when we look
   At each other so
  Then we feel
   How little we know;

  The spirit eludes us,
   Timid and free—
  Can I ever know you
   Or you know me?