A LOVE STORY

The full moon easterly rising, furious,

Against a winter sky ragged with red;

The hedges high in snow, and owls raving--

Solemnities not easy to withstand:

A shiver wakes the spine.

In boyhood, having encountered the scene,

I suffered horror: I fetched the moon home,

With owls and snow, to nurse in my head

Throughout the trials of a new Spring,

Famine unassuaged.

But fell in love, and made a lodgement

Of love on those chill ramparts.

Her image was my ensign: snows melted,

Hedges sprouted, the moon tenderly shone,

The owls trilled with tongues of nightingale.

These were all lies, though they matched the time,

And brought me less than luck: her image

Warped in the weather, turned beldamish.

Then back came winter on me at a bound,

The pallid sky heaved with a moon-quake.

Dangerous it had been with love-notes

To serenade Queen Famine.

In tears I recomposed the former scene,

Let the snow lie, watched the moon rise, suffered the owls,

Paid homage to them of unevent.

[From No more Ghosts (1940)]