He came to me beneath the harvest rains,
Most beautiful and most afflicted face;
When his enchantingness was not constrained
By frost a moment more, my day had place.
The sunlight found its truest warmth in him,
And in our season flourished love and song.
But now the days are shorter, cold, and dim;
I shrink away, and all creation longs.
I'll never see his face again, will I?
Beyond the realm of life my love's been snatched;
No godly healing arts did I not try,
But death among all things is never matched.
If only I could nevermore return,
Instead I will remember, wane, and yearn.
A place for my poems 