A Failure

by Edith Wharton

　　The world may smile and question, When?

　　But what I might have been to you

　　I cannot be to other men.

　　Just one in twenty to the rest,

　　And all in all to you alone, --

　　This was my dream; perchance 'tis best

　　That this, like other dreams, is flown.

　　For you I should have been so kind,

　　So prompt my spirit to control,

　　To win fresh vigor for my mind,

　　And purer beauties for my soul;

　　Beneath your eye I might have grown

　　To that divine, ideal height,

　　Which, mating wholly with your own,

　　Our equal spirits should unite.

　　To others I am less than naught;

　　To you I might have been so much,

　　Could but your calm, discerning thought

　　Have put my powers to the touch!

　　Your love had made me doubly fair;

　　Your wisdom made me thrice as wise,

　　Lent clearer lustre to my hair,

　　And read new meanings in my eyes.

　　Ah, yes, to you I might have been

　　That happy being, past recall,

　　The slave, the helpmeet, and the queen, --

　　All these in one, and one in all.

　　But that which I had dreamed to do

　　I learned too late was dreamed in vain,

　　For what I might have been to you

　　I cannot be to other men.