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THE NEW CRITERION
Is there then any need of me,
Of my tired and twisted face,
Is my body or my mind
Of use to you?
When you can love me without them,—
Not me
But the notion of me?
When with this you can go your ways,
Happy that all beautiful things
Mean your love
And your love means all these?
Of my tired and twisted face,
Is my body or my mind
Of use to you?
When you can love me without them,—
Not me
But the notion of me?
When with this you can go your ways,
Happy that all beautiful things
Mean your love
And your love means all these?
