The Old Maid

by Sara Teasdale

　　

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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.

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