After Love

by Sara Teasedale
There is no magic when we meet,
   We speak as other people do,
You work no miracle for me
   Nor I for you.
You were the wind and I the sea—
   There is no splendor any more,
I have grown listless as the pool
   Beside the shore.
But tho' the pool is safe from storm
   And from the tide has found surcease,
It grows more bitter than the sea,
   For all its peace.