Ah…
And even if you were a book
I should love you very dearly,
And carry you about with me
In my coat pocket,
Always!
Night Garden
Here is a silver star
Caught in the meshes of the moon.
It matters not.
Soon … soon … across the greeny darkness of the garden,
Still and sweet,
I shall hear in the mist of the evening
Your feet
You are coming to me!
The garden is drowned in a dream.
Only my heart is awake.
Hurry … hurry, beloved …
Lest it quiver, and break!
Some Quiet Day … Perhaps
Some quiet day, perhaps, when I am dead,
And this loud world is but a whispered echo
Through the dark, cool earth that spreads above my head,
I shall forget that I have ever known you.
Your kisses shall become inconsequent
As flowers and grass that grow above my grave,
Our moments shared shall crumble down to dust,
The ring upon my finger turn to rust.
There shall be nothing to remind me, then,
I shall know peace, unstirred by pain or song,
Turning my face to sleep, as children do,
Never to start awake and cry your name,
Seeking your arms to shelter me from fear
As I do now … this night … my very Dear!
Cloister
The young priest
Stood holding a small book in his hands,
Under a tree
Newly-stripped of its leafage.
He stood very still …
Remote,
The wind whipping his long robes
Into swirling darkness.
There behind cloistered walls
The war was unreal,
A distant dragon
Whose fiery breath
Was legend.
Just for a minute
The world stood still
Imprisoned in the pages
Of a small book.
There was healing in the sight,
The young priest
Reading words set down many centuries ago.
Oh soon, soon, let there be peace
Over the whole world
And the young men
Coming back to their books!