Sara Teasedale: The Old Maid

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.