Any sentient being knows
The birth and rebirth of a rose –
Or, really, any other flower;
All unfold in a seeming hour,
...
At first was giv’n a fleeting sign
Of winter warned and flower’d thorn;
Not of note or of great design,
Still it caused the angels to mourn.
...
The other day you said to me,
“Sift through all your memory
And tell me, if compelled to decide,
In which confine you would abide
...
How covert can a dagger be
Impaled in the negligent heart,
Who from their mindless sanctity see
No knowledge of use impart?
...
‘Twixt darkened clouds of rampant rain
(Beleaguered by gusts of snowy drift) –
As to bless the trees, the sunlight fain
Would, as it could, persistently strain
...
I know not e’en if in my heart
Your face is held in love’s esteem,
Or, as it seems to me, a beam
Between us keeps our lives apart.
...