Poems (Cromwell)/Winter Poetry
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WINTER POETRY
Lovers think that they alone possess
A sense of beauty. They ascribe all graces
To their love; seeing earth's wintry places
Warmed and enchanted, they suppose and guess
Their own illusion makes the loveliness.
They dream their flame illumines the dim spaces
Of the sky; they think the earth embraces
No charm but that their pleasure can express.
Yet we, who shun romance, find beauty near;
A stillness in the air when summer's gone;
On the fine winter stem hang subtle fruits;
We like to see the slender willow spear:
We like red weeds and branches blackly drawn,
And the white snow embroidered with brown roots.
A sense of beauty. They ascribe all graces
To their love; seeing earth's wintry places
Warmed and enchanted, they suppose and guess
Their own illusion makes the loveliness.
They dream their flame illumines the dim spaces
Of the sky; they think the earth embraces
No charm but that their pleasure can express.
Yet we, who shun romance, find beauty near;
A stillness in the air when summer's gone;
On the fine winter stem hang subtle fruits;
We like to see the slender willow spear:
We like red weeds and branches blackly drawn,
And the white snow embroidered with brown roots.