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Again—his voice is at the door · Ririro.com - Poetry

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  Speaker 1: Again, his voice is at the door. Again, his voice
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  Speaker 1: is at the door. I feel the old degree. I
• 0:07
  Speaker 1: hear him ask the servant for such an one as me.
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  Speaker 2: I take a flower as I go, my face to justify.
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  Speaker 1: He never saw me in this life. I might surprise
• 0:18
  Speaker 1: his eye. I cross the hall with mingled steps. I, silent,
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  Speaker 1: pass the door. I look on all this world contains,
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  Speaker 1: just his face, nothing more. We talk in careless, and
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  Speaker 1: it toss, a kind of plummet strain, each sounding shyly,
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  Speaker 1: just how deep the other's one had been. We walk.
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  Speaker 2: I leave my dog at home.
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  Speaker 1: A tender, thoughtful moon goes with us, just a little way,
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  Speaker 1: and then we are alone. Alone, if angels are alone,
• 0:49
  Speaker 1: first time they try the sky. Alone, if those veiled
• 0:53
  Speaker 1: faces be, we cannot count on high. I'd give to
• 0:57
  Speaker 1: live that hour again, the purple in my vein. But
• 1:01
  Speaker 1: he must count the drops himself, my price for every stain.