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.
