465

I heard a Fly buzz—when I died—
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air—
Between the Heaves of Storm—

The Eyes around—had wrung them dry—
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset—when the King
Be witnessed—in the Room—

I willed my Keepsakes—Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable—and then it was
There interposed a Fly—

With Blue—uncertain stumbling Buzz—
Between the light—and me—
And then the Windows failed—and then
I could not see to see—

If I had honest eyes I might have seen you.

I might have noticed how the light
Simply bounces off your messy hair.
I might have noticed the dimples
In your rosy, rounded cheeks.
I might have noticed how angels
Dance at the corner of your lips
When you grace me with a smile.
I might have noticed the calmness
Emanating from your crystalline eyes.
I might have noticed the cheery glow
Around your entire corporal form.
I might have noticed how you
Glide gracefully along the floor.
I might have noticed the perfection
That is so utterly and completely you.

But my eyes are deceitful.
They wander and want.
Too late have they repented.
Like the poor, jealous Moor,
I can only say:
O! O! O!

Too late have I seen what I have done.