The Secret by Robert Nichols

Suddenly with a shy, sad grace
She turns to me her lighted face,
And I, who hear some idle phrase,
    Watch how her wry lips move
And guess that the poor words they frame
Mean naught for they would speak the same
Message I read in the dark flame
    Within her eyes, which say, “I love.”
        But I can only turn away.

I, that have heard the deep voice break
Into a sing-song, sobbing shake,
Whose flutter made my being quake,
    What ears have I for women's cries?
I, that have seen the turquoise glaze
Fixed in the blue and quivering gaze
Of one whom cocaine cannot daze,
    How can I yield to women's eyes?
        I, who can only turn away.

I, that have held strong hands which palter,
Borne the full weight of limbs that falter,
Bound live flesh on the surgeon's altar,
    What need have I of women's hand?
I, that have felt the dead's embrace?
I, whose arms were his resting-place?
I, that have kissed a dead man's face?
    Ah, but how should you understand?
        Now I can only turn away.