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Fare Well
Motions of waking trouble winter air,
I wonder, and his face as it were forms
Solemn, canorous, under the howled alarms,-
The eyes shadowed and shut.
Certainly for this sort of thing it is very late,
I shudder, while my love longs and I pour
My bright eyes towards the moving shadow . . . where?
Out, like a plucked gut.
What has been taken away will not return,
I take it, whether upon the crouch of night
Or for my mountain need to share a morning's light,-
No! Iam alone.
What has been taken away should not have been shown,
I complain, torturing, and then withdrawn.
After so long, can I still long so and burn,
Imperishable son?
O easy the phoenix in the tree of the heart,
Each in its time, his twigs and spices fixes
To make a last nest, and marvellously relaxes,-
Out of the fire, weak peep! . . .
Father I fought for Mother, sleep where you sleep!
Islip into a snowbed with no hurt
Where warm will warm be warm enough to part
Us. As I sink, I weep.
April 1948