Tumbling-hair
              picker of buttercups
                                   violets
dandelions
And the big bullying daisies
                             through the field wonderful
with eyes a little sorry
Another comes
              also picking flowers

362

It struck me—every Day—
The Lightning was as new
As if the Cloud that instant slit
And let the Fire through—

It burned Me—in the Night—
It Blistered to My Dream—
It sickened fresh upon my sight—
With every Morn that came—

I though that Storm—was brief—
The Maddest—quickest by—
But Nature lost the Date of This—
And left it in the Sky—

Don't cry, this kiss is a kiss goodbye.
Don't cling, it's time to part.
Don't look at me nor ask me why
I've taken back my heart.

No questioning, no pleading;
No door remains ajar.
No doubt your heart is bleeding
Now, and wounds of love will scar.

Don't hope to ever turn back time,
Nor resurrect the flame
Of what became a pantomime
Of love, in all but name.