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Poem

A season and the shadows run
To all the seasons left undone
One season and the shadows find
To every season left behind
But then I find in summers wake
The season that the season makes
Just like a shadow might forsake
The last and final fleeting form
Of a season left forlorn
One season then when summer wakes
One season then when summer ends
But never then again partakes
Of shadows where our love is made

One season then when summer wakes
One season then when summer fades
And all my dreams of sorrow come
Just like a shadow shall become
One final thought of sudden form
The season and the shadows morn
That wakes and moves so endlessly
A sorrow less than more is bright
Is all that falls on thee tonight
And if a shadow’s hopeless form
Which cannot be no more forlorn
Shouldst rise in final rectitude
Of dreams I have of you
Then all the seasons summers made
Should never fade away

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