Upon This Earth

Looking by chance in at the open window
I saw my own self seated in his chair
With gaze abstracted, furrowed forehead, unkempt hairI thought that I had suddenly come to die
That to a cold corpse this was my farewell
Until the pen moved slowly upon paper and tears fellHe had written a name, yours, in printed letters
One word on which bemusedly to pore
No protest, no desire, your naked name, nothing moreWould it be tomorrow, would it be next year?
But the vision was not false, this much I knew
And I turned angrily from the open window, aghast at you