Modern Love XI: Out in the Yellow Meadows

 Out in the yellow meadows, where the bee 
Hums by us with the honey of the Spring, 
And showers of sweet notes from the larks on wing, 
Are dropping like a noon-dew, wander we.
 
Or is it now? or was it then? for now, 
As then, the larks from running rings pour showers: 
The golden foot of May is on the flowers, 
And friendly shadows dance upon her brow.
 
What's this, when Nature swears there is no change 
To challenge eyesight? Now, as then, the grace 
Of heaven seems holding earth in its embrace.
 
Nor eyes, nor heart, has she to feel it strange? 
Look, woman, in the West.
 There wilt thou see 
An amber cradle near the sun's decline: 
Within it, featured even in death divine, 
Is lying a dead infant, slain by thee.

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