I am from dark lightsFrom closed books and old forgotten poemsI am from the wood beams and metal walls.Splintered floorboardsI am from the treesThe dead oak treesWho's long gone limbs I rememberAs if that where my ownFrom quiet dinners and my own space.From mother and father.I'm from silent goodnight's and unsaid words.I'm from the quiet and the stillAnd scars.I'm from cleaning the house on quiet days.I'm from Smyrna and Tennessee.Coffee and tea .
Jolt of market-carts ;Steady drip of horses' hoofs on hard pavement ;A black sky lacquered over with blueness,And the lights of Battersea BridgePricking pale in the dawn.The beautiful hours are passingAnd still you sleep !Tired heart of my joy.Incurved upon your dreams.Will the day come before you have opened to me ?
One Life of so much Consequence!Yet I -- for it -- would pay --My Soul's entire income --In ceaseless -- salary --One Pearl -- to me -- so signal --That I would instant dive --Although -- I knew -- to take it --Would cost me -- just a life!The Sea is full -- I know it!That -- does not blur my Gem!It burns -- distinct from all the row --Intact -- in Diadem!The life is thick -- I know it!Yet -- not so dense a crowd --But Monarchs -- are perceptible --Far down the dustiest Road!
Come, my Celia, let us proveWhile we may the sports of love;Time will not be ours forever,He at length our good will sever.Spend not then his gifts in vain;Suns that set may rise again,But if once we lose this light,'Tis with us perpetual night.Why should we defer our joys?Fame and rumour are but toys.Cannot we delude the eyesOf a few poor household spies?Or his easier ears beguile,So removed by our wile?'Tis no sin love's fruits to steal;But the sweet theft to reveal,