Sara Teasdale — The Old Maid

I SAW her in a Broadway car,     The woman I might grow to be; I felt my lover look at her     And then turn suddenly to me. Her hair was dull and drew no light     And yet its color was as mine; Her eyes were strangely like my eyes     Tho' love had never made them shine. Her body was a thing grown thin,     Hungry for love that never came; Her soul was frozen in the dark     Unwarmed forever by love's flame. I felt my lover look at her     And then turn suddenly to me,— His eyes were magic to defy     The woman I shall never be.