Cross Roads

HEREDITY

     You told me, last night,
     In a strange and sudden burst of confidence;
     That a New England ancestor of yours,
     Had burned witches—
     And at last I knew....

     Why your eyes are always so grim,
     And why your mouth is cut,
     In a straight line,
     And why you can never see beauty and mirth
     In the sweep of wind over a wheat field,
     Or in the sunlight on a baby's hair.
     At last I knew
     Why you can never see romance
     In the long gypsie trail,
     Or magic,
     In the still purple woods.

     I knew why life,
     To you,
     Was something to be struggled with,
     Not a glorious adventure;
     And why death was the end of things,
     And not the beginning.
     And I knew at last,
     Why you could never understand,
     That tears may cover laughter,
     And that laughter may be a veil
     For tears.

     You told me, last night,
     That an ancestor of yours,
     Had burned witches,
     And, oh, as I sat in the candlelight,
     Watching you,
     I couldn't help wishing,
     That somewhere behind you, in the shadows,

     There was another ancestor—
     A gay cavalier ancestor—
     Who rode hard,
     And fought with his sword,
     And wore his hat, rakishly,
     On the back of his head,
     And knew—love.