The Old Maid

by Sara Teasedale
I Saw her in a Broadway car,
   The woman I might grow to be;
I felt my lover look at her
   And then turn suddenly to me.
Her hair was dull and drew no light
   And yet its color was as mine;
Her eyes were strangely like my eyes
   Tho' love had never made them shine.
Her body was a thing grown thin,
   Hungry for love that never came;
Her soul was frozen in the dark
   Unwarmed forever by love's flame.
I felt my lover look at her
   And then turn suddenly to me,—
His eyes were magic to defy
   The woman I shall never be.