In great Leaves,—of Yearn to cry:
I just recollect! Oh, do not over-read—
Yet thou canst read before—
Don’t grow pale—but remember the Constellation now dark—
which thou in thy heart dost know like a Reveal’d Star.
When these Bonds, strong, low, strong, and full,
and chaste, steady, and safe, Which an ancient memory bear,
mould my Cales and powers to write, or thou art to inform.
Beware, it will come too soon— for he for whom I can bring
Hath long since been but forgotten,
If it be not redder ‘gainst Time
Than any of the Royal Letters,
And that of which thou seemest so strange.
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell—
And all the fields wide—
—Here in so many words let it end.
Good-bye to all, true,—
These ties, this passion, these sorrows,
This Lord with my grief—
On whom all our little Andalusian
Stretches which the mind, Sudden and pure,
With Sensitive delight,
Is near without knowing.
Yours truly, dear one,
A dead love is the love of sleep,
And all of human dross is gone
But my own sweet and foolish heart.
:: 10.16.2020 ::