After Love

There is no magic any more,

We meet as other people do,

You work no miracle for me

Nor I for you.

You were the wind and I the sea—

There is no splendor any more,

I have grown listless as the pool

Beside the shore.

But tho' the pool is safe from storm

And from the tide has found surcease,

It grows more bitter than the sea,

For all its peace.

                              Sara Teasdale