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Poem	I LOVE him, I love him, ran the patter of her lips And she formed his name on her tongue and sang And she sent him word she loved him so much, So much, and death was nothing; work, art, home, All was nothing if her love for him was not first Of all; the patter of her lips ran, I love him, I love him; and he knew the doors that opened Into doors and more doors, no end of doors, And full length mirrors doubling and tripling The apparitions of doors: circling corridors of Looking glasses and doors, some with knobs, some With no knobs, some opening slow to a heavy push, And some jumping open at a touch and a hello. And he knew if he so wished he could follow her Swift running through circles of doors, hearing Sometimes her whisper, I love him, I love him, And sometimes only a high chaser of laughter Somewhere five or ten doors ahead or five or ten Doors behind, or chittering h-st, h-st, among corners Of the tall full-length dusty looking glasses. I love, I love, I love, she sang short and quick in High thin beaten soprano and he knew the meanings, The high chaser of laughter, the doors on doors And the looking glasses, the room to room hunt, The ends opening into new ends always.
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