The Mystery

By Sara Teasdale

Your eyes drink of me,

Love makes them shine,

Your eyes that lean

So close to mine.

We have long been lovers,

We know the range

Of each other's moods

And how they change;

But when we look

At each other so

Then we feel

How little we know;

The spirit eludes us,

Timid and free —

Can I ever know you

Or you know me?