And coo and coo his breath away at will—
The bride in orange blooms—the ivied church—
The two-roomed kipsy sheltered by the hill—
Sweep them aside and fetch the frothing bowl
To warm the cockles of one’s inmost soul.
Beer is enough.
Or take this sardonic expression of the doubt of Love:
There’s a new chap born in the world to-day,
And an axe laid close to the root of doubt.
When I hear you speak in that soulful way