PARTING AFTER A QUARREL - Eunice Tatjens

"You looked at me with eyes grown bright with pain,

Like some trapped thing's. And then you moved your head

Slowly from side to side, as though the strain

Ached in your throat with anger and with dread.

And then you turned and left me, and I stood

With a queer sense of deadness over me,

And only wondered dully that you could

Fasten your trench-coat up so carefully -

Till you were gone. Then all the air was quick

With my last words, that seemed to leap and quiver;

And in my heart I heard the little click

Of a door that closes - quietly, forever."