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Poem	The nights have grown cool again, like the nights Of early spring, and quiet again. Will Speech disturb you? We're Alone now; we have no reason for silence. Can you see, over the garden-the full moon rises. I won't see the next full moon. In spring, when the moon rose, it meant Time was endless. Snowdrops Opened and closed, the clustered Seeds of the maples fell in pale drifts. White over white, the moon rose over the birch tree. And in the crook, where the tree divides, Leaves of the first daffodils, in moonlight Soft greenish-silver. We have come too far together toward the end now To fear the end. These nights, I am no longer even certain I know what the end means. And you, who've been With a man-- After the first cries, Doesn't joy, like fear, make no sound?
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