Anniversaries

Once more the windless days are here,Quiet of autumn, when the yearHalts and looks backward and draws breathBefore it plunges into death.Silver of mist and gossamers,Through-shine of noonday's glassy gold,Pale blue of skies, where nothing stirsSave one blanched leaf, weary and old,That over and over slowly fallsFrom the mute elm-trees, hanging on airLike tattered flags along the wallsOf chapels deep in sunlit prayer.Once more ... Within its flawless glassTo-day reflects that other day,When, under the bracken, on the grass,We who were lovers happily layAnd hardly spoke, or framed a thoughtThat was not one with the calm hillsAnd crystal sky. Ourselves were nought,Our gusty passions, our burning willsDissolved in boundlessness, and weWere almost bodiless, almost free.

The wind has shattered silver and gold.Night after night of sparkling cold,Orion lifts his tangled feetFrom where the tossing branches beatIn a fine surf against the sky.So the trance ended, and we grewRestless, we knew not how or why;And there were sudden gusts that blewOur dreaming banners into storm;We wore the uncertain crumbling formOf a brown swirl of windy leaves,A phantom shape that stirs and heavesShuddering from earth, to fall againWith a dry whisper of withered rain.

Last, from the dead and shrunken daysWe conjured spring, lighting the blazeOf burnished tulips in the dark;And from black frost we struck a sparkOf blue delight and fragrance new,A little world of flowers and dew.Winter for us was over and done:The drought of fluttering leaves had grownEmerald shining in the sun,As light as glass, as firm as stone.Real once more: for we had passedThrough passion into thought again;Shaped our desires and made that fastWhich was before a cloudy pain;Moulded the dimness, fixed, definedIn a fair statue, strong and free,Twin bodies flaming into mind,Poised on the brink of ecstasy.