1205

Immortal is an ample word
When what we need is by
But when it leaves us for a time
’Tis a necessity.

Of Heaven above the firmest proof
We fundamental know
Except for its marauding Hand
It had been Heaven below.

She drew and she drew
Until she looked at all the pictures
And they all were versions of you

  They are terribly white:
     There is snow on the ground,
And a moon on the snow at night;
The sky is cut by the winter light;
Yet I, who have all these things in ken,                                
Am struck to the heart by the chiselled white
Of this handful of cyclamen