Ann in chill moonlight unlocks Her polished brassbound treasure-box, Draws a soft breath, prepares to spread The toys around her on the bed. She dips for luck: by luck pulls out A silver pig with ring in snout, The sort that Christmas puddings yield; Next comes a painted nursery shield Boy-carved; and then two yellow gloves, A Limerick wonder that Ann loves, Leather so thin and joined so well The pair fold in a walnut shell; Here's patchwork that her sister made With antique silk and flower brocade, Small faded scraps in memory rich Joined each to each with feather-stitch; Here's cherry and forget-me-not Ribbon bunched in a great knot; A satin purse with pansies on it; A Tudor baby's christening bonnet; Old Mechlin lace minutely knit (Some woman's eyes went blind for it); And Spanish broideries that pinch Three blossomed rosetrees to one inch; Here are Ann's brooches, simple pins, A Comet brooch, two Harlequins, A Posy; here's a great resplendent Dove-in-bush Italian pendant; A Chelsea gift-bird; a toy whistle; A halfpenny stamped with the Scots thistle; A Breguet watch; a coral string; Her mother's thin-worn wedding ring; A straw box full of hard smooth sweets; A book, the _Poems of John Keats_; A chessman; a pink paper rose; A diary dwindling to its close Nine months ago; a worsted ball; A patchbox; a stray match--that's all, All but a few small treasured scraps Of paper; things forbid perhaps-- See how slowly Ann unties The packet where her heartache lies; Watch her lips move; she slants a letter Up towards the moon to read it better, (The moon may master what he can). R stands for Richard, A for Ann And L ... at this the old moon blinks And softly from the window shrinks. THE KISS Are you shaken, are you stirred By a whisper of love, Spellbound to a word Does Time cease to move, Till her calm grey eye Expands to a sky And the clouds of her hair Like storms go by? Then the lips that you have kissed Turn to frost and fire, And a white-steaming mist Obscures desire: So back to their birth Fade water, air, earth, And the First Power moves Over void and dearth. Is that Love? no, but Death, A passion, a shout, The deep in-breath, The breath roaring out, And once that is flown, You must lie alone, Without hope, without life, Poor flesh, sad bone. LOST LOVE