VI
THREE POEMS FOR JANE CHERON
Oh, your love was a marvellous thing,
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It was dawn, it was fire, it was birth, it was spring,
Jeanne!
But this is the curse, that it quickens its rate,
Lest man by love should escape from fate
And win from the dust to the Uncreate,
Jeanne
!
Nay, we are lovers, you and I—
And we must die, and our love must die!
How have we striven, each of us,
Jeanne!
To break the bars of the prison-house,
Jeanne!
We have raged like cats in a ring of fire,
Driven by desire that was true Desire,
The hate οί the lower, the love of the Higher,
Jeanne!
What is the end of it, Jeanne?
Why, that’s
A mystery not to be solved by cats!
In the fields we wandered through to—day,
Jeannel
Hand in hand, this wonderful May,
Jeanne
1
This May we have made so marvellous
With the infinite longing and love of us,
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