Strange that a smile
Should slide away like that
As though fallen from her face
That blue-bright eyes could change
Like that to grey-and draw their shutters
All before the paleness fell
And washed her into whiteness
Never our words could be unspoken now
Or taken back, nor this, the stricken hour
Be stricken from me
Nor any reach of heaven
Hold this hell
Isabelle Cooper
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/our-last-quarrel/
