Willow Love
If I hold to the soft light
and you to the sad
what makes it such a wrong right
that we should be glad?
While wind meets the poor willow
and the branch gives way
why ought we be still — oh
and crouch away?
If you be unsure
and I full of an old wait
and fearful before love’s lure
why hesitate?
We cannot make a strange sun
sing a white moonsong
nor make two become one
nor live for long.
And if flies be for a day
and robins but a season
why ought we betray
such unreason?
Let the stars then be stars
in their eternity
while we be what we are
and save serenity.
