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 Artist
                                
                                
                                    Artist
                                        We stood by a pond that winter day,
                                        And a few leaves lay on the starving sod;
                                        —They had fallen from an ash, and were gray.
                                        Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove
                                        Over tedious riddles of years ago;
                                        And some words played between us to and fro—
                                        On which lost the more by our love.
                                        The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing
                                        Alive enough to have strength to die;
                                        And a grin of bitterness swept thereby
                                        Like an ominous bird a-wing....
                                        Since then, keen lessons that love deceives,
                                        And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me
                                        Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree,
                                        And a pond edged with grayish leaves.