Drowsing in my chair of disbelief
I watch the door as it slowly opens-
A trick of the night wind?
Your slender body seems a shaft of moonlight
Against the door as it gently closes.
Do you cast no shadow?
Your whisper is too soft for credence,
Your tread is like blossom drifting from a bough,
Your touch even softer.
You wear that sorrowful and tender mask
Which on high mountaintops in heather-flow
Entrances lonely shepards.
And even though a single word scatters all doubts,
I quake for wonder at your choice of me.
Why, why, and why?
-Robert Graves
