The Mystery

by Sara Teasdale
Your eyes drink of me,
 Love makes them shine,
Your eyes that lean
 So close to mine.
We have long been lovers,
 We know the range
Of each other's moods
 And how they change;
But when we look
 At each other so
Then we feel
 How little we know;
The spirit eludes us,
 Timid and free —
Can I ever know you
 Or you know me?