A BALLAD OF LOOKING
He looked into her eyes, and there he saw
No trace of that bright gleam which poets say
Comes from the faery orb of love's sweet day,
No blushing coyness causes her to withdraw
Her gaze from his. He looked and yet he knew
No joy, no whirling numbness of the brain,
No quickening heart-beat. Then he looked again,
And once again, unblushing, she looked too.
He looked into her eyes—with interest he
Stared at them through a magnifying prism.
For he was but an oculist, and she
Was being treated for astigmatism.
