Prothalamium

And so I must lose her whose mind

Fitted so sweetly and securely into mine

That words seeded and blossomed in an instant,

Whose body was one of my fine

morning visions come alive and perfect?

Must she slip out of my arms so

And I never revel again in the twilight of her hair

Or see the world grow

Marvellous within her eye? My hands

Are empty; and suddenly I think

That on some night like this, when rain is soft

And moths flutter at the window, seeking a chink,

I'll lose her utterly, a bedded bride

Gold ring and contract bound,

The night filled with terrifying music

And she not hearing a sound.

- Donagh MacDonagh

1912-1968

Soft Pink Pajamas