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Poem	The Frost of Death was on the Pane -- "Secure your Flower" said he. Like Sailors fighting with a Leak We fought Mortality. Our passive Flower we held to Sea -- To Mountain -- To the Sun -- Yet even on his Scarlet shelf To crawl the Frost begun -- We pried him back Ourselves we wedged Himself and her between, Yet easy as the narrow Snake He forked his way along Till all her helpless beauty bent And then our wrath begun -- We hunted him to his Ravine We chased him to his Den -- We hated Death and hated Life And nowhere was to go -- Than Sea and continent there is A larger -- it is Woe --
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