They leave their love-lorn haunts,
Their sigh-warm floating Eden;
And they are mute at once,
Mortals by God unheeden,
5By their past kisses chidden.
But they have kist and known
Clear things we dim by guesses –
Spirit to spirit grown:
Heaven, born in hand-caresses.
10Love, fall from sheltering tresses.
And they are dumb and strange:
Bared trees bowed from each other.
Their last green interchange
What lost dreams shall discover?
15Dead, strayed, to love-strange lover.
"In fact he was no more foreign that London's East End, and he was greatly talented"
- Clive James, The Fire of Joy