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.

I read this and it makes me smile at the ending. A link to read more is here. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/sara-teasdale

Old poetry