If I had not loved before,
Today I would not know how.
I had to write the poems that failed
To write the good ones now.

To know how much I love you,
She had to make me cry;
She had to kiss my lips,
And look into my eye

With a passion nearly your own.
Then-— she had to leave me
So I would be alone—
Not caring for the rest.
Then I’d be ready for you—
You, who are the best.

You love philosophy.
You are a poet and a beauty,
And you believe in beauty.
Now when I write poems—every poem is for you
You are not only touched—you understand them, too.

She didn’t know poems! She couldn’t experience
Love. Knowing you, I haven’t thought of her since.
All thoughts of her have been deleted,
Her brown eyes, by your brown eyes, defeated.

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