Portrait

 She has no need to fear the fall 
Of harvest from the laddered reach 
Of orchards, nor the tide gone ebbing 
 From the steep beach.

Nor hold to pain's effrontery 
Her body's bulwark, stern and savage, 
Nor be a glass, where to forsee 
 Another's ravage.

What she has gathered, and what lost, 
She will not find to lose again. 
She is possessed by time, who once 
 Was loved by men.

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