There Is a Looker-On
There is a looker-on who sits behind my eyes.
It seems he has seen things
in ages and worlds beyond memory's shore,
and those forgotten sights
glisten on the grass and shiver on the leaves.
He has seen under new veils
the face of the one beloved,
in twilight hours of many a nameless star.
Therefore his sky seems to ache
with the pain of countless meetings and partings,
and a longing pervades this spring breeze,
the longing that is full of the whisper of ages without beginning.