The Rose Family
The rose is a rose
And was always a rose
But the theory now goes
That the apple’s a rose,
And the pear is, and so’s
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only know
What will next prove a rose?
You, of course, are a rose
But were always a rose
How pointlessly they congregate
O’er our tumultuous snow
This flows in shapes as tall as trees
When wintry winds do blow!
As if with keenness for our fate,
Our faltering few steps on
To white rest, and a place of rest
Invisible at down
And yet with neither love nor hate,
Those stars like some snow-white
Minerva’s snow-white marble eyes
Without the gift of sight
Winter evening
Evening seems
At first intense blue
Fades through paleness into black.
The farmhouse in the valley
Shines like a lost streetlight, cold
As a dingo howl at midnight
Fire And Ice
Some say the world will and in fire
Some say in Ice
From what I have tested of desire
I hold with those who favor fire
But if it had to parish twice, I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction Ice
Is also great
And would suffice
Sweet May
Sweetest May, let love inspire here
Take a hart, which he desires thee
As thy constant slave regard it
For its faith and truth reward it

Proof o’ shot to beat or money
Not the wealthy, but the bonnie
Not high-born, but noble-minded
In love’s silken band can bind it!