Hart Crane
My hands have not touched water since your hands,—
No;—nor my lips freed laughter since ‘farewell’.
And with the day, distance again expands
Between us, voiceless as an uncoiled shell.
 
Yet,—much follows, much endures... Trust birds alone:
A dove’s wings clung about my heart last night
With surging gentleness; and the blue stone
Set in the tryst-ring has but worn more bright.
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