V. Understanding

Now, when I stand in some great crowded place,
I see the souls of other women stare
Out of their eyes — And I can glimpse the care
And worry that has banished light and grace
From every life. Upon each woman-face
I see the mark of tears, the hint of prayer
That, one short year ago, had not been there —
I see what time will never quite erase!

Before you left, I did not notice eyes —
Because I knew that I might touch your hand,
I did not dream the dread that swept our land. . .
Ah, dear, the months have made me very wise!
Now, one with everything, I understand,
And heart meets heart and I can sympathize.