VII

If I must live without you, I must learn

To love the earth and all that grows once more,

With the old good love that satisfied before

I saw you smile. Now, let me turn and turn,

Your memory covers earth and sky; I yearn

For you, and not for Spring; my heart is sore

With absence, not with Winter's length. Of yore,

When climbing noons began to softly burn,

There seemed a tender joy in every bud

That swelled and burst, in every little spear

That broke the clods; and Spring sang in my blood

As in the sap; and all that lived was dear.

These treasures now are veiled and strange and far,

Whilst I go wandering where your footprints are.