Transitional Poem
45
From lips and eyes. Yet nothing had such powerAs prattle of small flowers within the brakeTo mount the panic heart and rein it backFrom the world's edge. For they, whose virtue liesIn a brief act of beauty, summarizeEarth's annual passion and leave the naked earthStill dearer by their death than by their birth.So we, who are love's hemispheres hidingBeneath the coloured ordeal of our spring,Shall be disclosed, and I shall see your faceAn autumn evening certain of its peace.
22
It is an easier thingTo give up great possessionsThan to forego one farthingOf the rare unpossessed.
But I've been satelliteLong enough to this moon,The pharisee of nightShining by tradition.
There's no star in the skyBut gazing makes it doubleAnd the infatuate eyeCan breed dilemmas on it.
