I lay upon an iron bed. My blood, in flowing up and down the earth and round and round, called his name, obeyed the impulse of his will.
I shall be born again when he is still.
(Early Poems: 1945-48)
Is this the way to happiness?
Prolonging kisses till the world
Of thought and deed is dim?
Your loveliness makes all things hard
To bear that are not beautiful,
And everything that is endured
From day to day, dissolveSo
This laughing love of ours alone
Is wise and will remain,
When all endeavour has been cooled
By Time and mated to defeat.