XLV
Before the ice is in the pools,Before the skaters go,Or any cheek at nightfallIs tarnished by the snow,
Before the fields have finished,Before the Christmas tree,Wonder upon wonderWill arrive to me!
What we touch the hems ofOn a summer’s day;What is only walkingJust a bridge away;
That which sings so, speaks so,When there’s no one here,—Will the frock I wept inAnswer me to wear?