Sonnets on Separation I.

By Edward Shanks

The time shall be, old Wisdom says, when you

Shall grow awrinkled and I, indifferent,

Shall no more follow the light steps I knew

Or trace you, finding out the way you went,

By swinging branches and the displaced flowers

Among the thickets. I no more shall stand,

With careful pencil through the adoring hours

Scratching your grace on paper. My still hand

No more shall tremble at the touch of yours

And I'll write no more songs and you'll not sing.

But this is all a lie, for love endures

And we shall closer kiss, remembering

How budding trees turned barren in the sun

Through this long week, whereof one day's now done.