Hope lies like a strangled robin without wings,
Dies like a fire without flame,
Smolders like the smoke that always stings,
Whimpers like a foe's impugning blame.
Love turns her cheek like a maiden's blush
Hides like the winter's ivory hush,
Slides over life like a tattered glove---
Such is the presence of love.
What fragile symptoms of this world!
What difficult walls to breach!
As still as a tendril lately curled
In springtime's loosening reach.
Yet gladly to these mangled shores I'd go
If once I could catch a flake of snow
Pure white, somewhere lost in the tangles of time
Hidden beneath decades damaged with grime.