In a hollow of the forest
They were beyond neighbours;
He said to her, in a lift of peace
After their ecstasy—‘Can it be?’
After a silence, when only the forest spoke,
He said, ‘It is all roses,’
But she, more secretly listening,
Said, ‘No! blue-cool cornflowers,’
But the forest, profound in nature's truth, said,
‘No! It is lilies.’

There was a host about
Absorbed in secrecies,
Shut off and imprisoned in selves
Beyond good neighbourhood,
Beyond touch of friendliness,
Oneness, each separate,
Beyond dark, beyond light—
Insular insects in armour safe
Only pretending death;
Prisoned by fear.

There was no love about,
Neither in shape, sound, nor movement,
Only the protoplasm of love;
Thing ate thing, prowled and preyed,
In life foredoomed to dung;
But deaf, the man said,
‘No! It is roses!’
She, with the ear of earth, said,
‘It is blue-cool cornflowers.’
The forest said, ‘It is
Funereal lilies!’

The lovers rose; pregnant with love,
Deaf to the moment, he cupped
A hand over her breast and they went
Home slowly in a sun
Descending over the purple hills;
The bomber roared over their dream.