LINES WRITTEN IN OCTOBER

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 LINES WRITTEN IN OCTOBER

Where are you, my lovely?

How is it that you stay away?

What strangeness drives you,

Twists love into disappointment and woe?

I imagine that you must have your reasons.

Yet do not suppose a simple story!

Do not count yourself as chief player, the subject,

And, me, the writer, who writes a conventional,

Everyday tale about love won and lost,

The common drama which depicts us flying

To marvelous heights and then dropping

To a hard, low-bottom sorrow.

For us there is no play-book script,

No beginning, no end.

The story stays; it remains the same.

Unlike all other sublunary things, it does not change.

 

You shine, darling, you shine.

Tonight I saw you in the East;

You are bright and eternal.

And every morning you arise steadfast.

Your light brightens the bedroom.

Your warmth gladdens my heart.