by Edwin Arlington Robinson (1920)

Observant of the way she told
  So much of what was true,
No vanity could long withhold
  Regard that was her due:
She spared him the familiar guile,
  So easily achieved,
That only made a man to smile
  And left him undeceived.

Aware that all imagining
  Of more than what she meant
Would urge an end of everything,
  He stayed; and when he went,
They parted with a merry word
  That was to him as light
As any that was ever heard
  Upon a starry night.

She smiled a little, knowing well
  That he would not remark
The ruins of a day that fell
  Around her in the dark:
He saw no ruins anywhere,
  Nor fancied there were scars
On anyone who lingered there,
  Alone below the stars.

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