April, unready to be so intense,
Marked time while these outstripped the gentle weather,
Yielded their natures to insensate sense,
And flew apart the more they came together.
Where did they fly? Why each through such a storm
As may be conjured in a globe of glass
Drive on the colder as the flesh grew warm
In breathless haste to be at lust’s impasse
To cross the little bridge and sink to rest
In visions of the snow-occulded house
Where languishes, unfounded by any quest,
The perfect, small, asphyxiated spouse.
The blizzard ended, and their eyes grew clear,
And there they lay exhausted yet unsated;
Why did their features run with tear on tear,
Until their looks were individuated?
One peace implies another, and they cried
For want of love as if their souls would crack
Till, in despair of being satisfied,
They vowed at least to share each other’s lack.
Then maladroitly they embraced once more,
And hollow rang to hollow with a sound
That turned the brooks more sweetly than before,
And made the birds explode for miles around.