Edges by John Orley Allen Tate

I’ve often wondered why she laughed
On thinking why I wondered so;
It seemed such waste that long white hands
Should touch my hands and let them go.

And once when we were parting there,
Unseen of anything but trees,
I touched her fingers, thoughtfully,
For more than simple niceties.

But for some futile things unsaid
I should say all is done for us;
Yet I have wondered how she smiled
Beholding what was cavernous.

From: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/54015/edges-56d233e1f13e5

Date: 1922

By: John Orley Allen Tate (1899-1979)