DEAD LOVE

If this should never end —

This wandering in oblivious mood

Along a rutless road that leads

From wood to deeper wood —

This crunching with unheedful foot

Acorns, I think, and withered leaves...

Perhaps a rotten root —

If this should never end —

This seeing with insentient eyes

Something that seems like earth, and, too,

Like overbending skies;

This feeling, well — that time is space,

Space, time; and each a pallid glass

In which Life sees her face —

If it should never end —

The road, the wandering and the feel

Of dead infinities that seem

O'er our dead sense to steal,

And like seas cease above —

Would it much matter, love?