Mandragora/To Lulu

by John Cowper Powys

TO LULU

IT is not only love
  That for one another we feel,
But a strange, a strange identity,
   Like spokes of the same wheel.

Yes, we have walked together,
   With buttercup dust on our shoes,
Thro' the lovely rainy weather
   With nothing to win or lose,
And the wild-rose scent of the hedges.
   And the wild-thyme scent of the hill.
And the fresh, damp smell of the river sedges
   Are with us still.

Can they ever come back again,
   Those infinite, mystical hours.
With love dissolved in the rain
   And pain asleep in the flowers,
Where the men we met were like men.
   On some God-like errand bound,
And the girls we met were — like girls
   As the world goes round!

Will they ever come back? Will they ever?
   Who can say? But at least they were,
And God himself can never
   Of the past make empty air;

Should one of us die, the other
   Will have two souls to keep —
His own and what was his brother
   Saved from sleep.

For it is not only love,
   That for one another we feel;
But a strange, a strange identity-
   Like spokes of the same wheel!