Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1921/Unreality
UNREALITY
Through the window-pane I see your face,
Its outline a little vague
In the dimness of the shadow.
But the whiteness of your skin
Is like a clean ship's sail,
With the rays of a thousand moonbeams sweeping over
Standing out in the darkness of a night.
And your eyes, I see them like two golden bowls, them.
As I pass out into the blackness,
I wonder if I have ever really known you—
Or if you exist at all,
And are not but a twisted, fevered, silver creation of my brain,
And the unreality of you comes over me,
Like a mist upon a lonely sea.
Its outline a little vague
In the dimness of the shadow.
But the whiteness of your skin
Is like a clean ship's sail,
With the rays of a thousand moonbeams sweeping over
Standing out in the darkness of a night.
And your eyes, I see them like two golden bowls, them.
As I pass out into the blackness,
I wonder if I have ever really known you—
Or if you exist at all,
And are not but a twisted, fevered, silver creation of my brain,
And the unreality of you comes over me,
Like a mist upon a lonely sea.
Poetry, A Magazine of VerseMercedes de Acosta