En robe de parade.
                                        Samain

Like a skien of loose silk blown against a wall
She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,
And she is dying piece-meal
        of a sort of emotional anaemia.

And round about there is a rabble
Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.
They shall inherit the earth.

In her is the end of breeding.
Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.
She would like some one to speak to her,
And is almost afraid that I
        will commit that indiscretion.

When I behold how black, immortal ink
Drips from my deathless pen—ah, well-away!
Why should we stop at all for what I think?
There is enough in what I chance to say.

It is enough that we once came together;
What is the use of setting it to rime?
When it is autumn do we get spring weather,
Or gather may of harsh northwindish time?

It is enough that we once came together;
What if the wind have turned against the rain?
It is enough that we once came together;
Time has seen this, and will not turn again;

And who are we, who know that last intent,
To plague to-morrow with a testament!

its like a summer day when i see your smiling face
who grabs my attention like you. that even i cant slow the pace of my heart rate
the taste of your lips rich wine that i can get drunk. and never become sober
its like a day in fall when you and i talk laughing until the tears run down , as the cool wind brushes against me
i look at you then say know that no one can take your place  you have established our relationship
and spring comes around when you and i lay in bed no *** just a simple how was your day? and i reply with a smile it was okay
sometimes winter days come  when we are mad and i cant seem to get through to you
cold touches strong winds of unkind words that ice my soul but none the less you are loved these are the seasons of us.