HEREDITY

You told me, last night,

In a strange and sudden burst of confidence;

That a New England ancestor of yours,

Had burned witches —

And at last I knew....

Why your eyes are always so grim,

And why your mouth is cut,

In a straight line,

And why you can never see beauty and mirth

In the sweep of wind over a wheat field,

Or in the sunlight on a baby's hair.

At last I knew

Why you can never see romance

In the long gypsie trail,

Or magic,

In the still purple woods.

I knew why life,

To you,

Was something to be struggled with,

Not a glorious adventure;

And why death was the end of things,

And not the beginning.

And I knew at last,

Why you could never understand,

That tears may cover laughter,

And that laughter may be a veil

For tears.

You told me, last night,

That an ancestor of yours,

Had burned witches,

And, oh, as I sat in the candlelight,

Watching you,

I could n't help wishing,

That somewhere behind you, in the shadows,

There was another ancestor —

A gay cavalier ancestor —

Who rode hard,

And fought with his sword,

And wore his hat, rakishly,

On the back of his head,

And knew — love.