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.
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!