Part 6

Not in this chamber only at my birth-- When the long hours of that mysterious night Were over, and the morning was in sight-- I cried, but in strange places, steppe and firth I have not seen, through alien grief and mirth; And never shall one room contain me quite Who in so many rooms first saw the light, Child of all mothers, native of the earth.

So is no warmth for me at any fire To-day, when the world's fire has burned so low; I kneel, spending my breath in vain desire, At that cold hearth which one time roared so strong, And straighten back in weariness, and long To gather up my little gods and go.

If I should learn, in some quite casual way, That you were gone, not to return again-- Read from the back-page of a paper, say, Held by a neighbor in a subway train, How at the corner of this avenue And such a street (so are the papers filled) A hurrying man--who happened to be you-- At noon to-day had happened to be killed, I should not cry aloud--I could not cry Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place-- I should but watch the station lights rush by With a more careful interest on my face, Or raise my eyes and read with greater care Where to store furs and how to treat the hair.

VI Bluebeard

This door you might not open, and you did; So enter now, and see for what slight thing You are betrayed. . . . Here is no treasure hid, No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain For greed like yours, no writhings of distress, But only what you see. . . . Look yet again-- An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless. Yet this alone out of my life I kept Unto myself, lest any know me quite; And you did so profane me when you crept Unto the threshold of this room to-night That I must never more behold your face. This now is yours. I seek another place.