After Two Years

She is all so slight And tender and white As a May morning. She walks without hood At dusk. It is good To hear her sing.

It is God's will That I shall love her still As He loves Mary. And night and day I will go forth to pray That she love me.

She is as gold Lovely, and far more cold. Do thou pray with me, For if I win grace To kiss twice her face God has done well to me.

1915

The limbs of gods, Still, veined marble, Rest heavily in sleep Under a saffron twilight.

Not for them battle, Severed limbs, death, and a cry of victory; Not for them strife And a torment of storm.

A vast breast moves slowly, The great thighs shift, The stone eyelids rise; The slow tongue speaks:

"Only a rain of bright dust; In the outer air; A little whisper of wind; Sleep; rest; forget."

Bright dust of battle! A little whisper of dead souls!