Poems (Sill)/Her Explanation
O you have wondered at me,—guessed in vain What the real woman is you know so well? I am a lost illusion. Some strange spellOnce made your friend there, with his fine disdainOf fact, conceive me perfect. He would fain (But could not) see me always, as befell His dream to see me, plucking asphodel,In saffron robes, on some celestial plain.All that I was he marred and flung away In quest of what I was not, could not be,— Lilith, or Helen, or Antigone. Still he may search; but I have had my day, And now the Past is all the part for meThat this world's empty stage has left to play.
HER EXPLANATION.
O you have wondered at me,—guessed in vain What the real woman is you know so well? I am a lost illusion. Some strange spellOnce made your friend there, with his fine disdainOf fact, conceive me perfect. He would fain (But could not) see me always, as befell His dream to see me, plucking asphodel,In saffron robes, on some celestial plain.All that I was he marred and flung away In quest of what I was not, could not be,— Lilith, or Helen, or Antigone. Still he may search; but I have had my day, And now the Past is all the part for meThat this world's empty stage has left to play.