Alone to walk the dripping woods of spring
While daisies spy you?
Where’s he should make the bells of heaven ring
Because he is by you?
Who would have been my lover lies afar,
No more he wanders.
Those feet and eyes and arms of comfort are
The ploughland of Flanders.
And, homeward turning, who shall hear your feet
That crunch the gravel?
I know no room by love made fresh and sweet
To ease me from travel.
Long dust the lips should answer mine, the eyes
Caress me only,
And I must earn my bread, and bravely rise,
And lay me down lonely.
And they, that bring such pain, and joy that sings?
Lie hid for ever.
My womb, a butterfly with folded wings,
Must open them never,
And there shall sleep the seeds that never grew
In cells unbroken,
Nations that might have made the world anew
To the world’s end unwoken.