Love had him fast but though he fought for breath
He struggled only to possess Another,
The snare forgotten in the little death,
Till you, the seed to which he was a mother.
That never heard of love, through love was free,
While he within his arms a world was holding,
To take the all-night journey under sea,
Work west and northward, set up building.
Cities and years constricted to your scope.
All sorrow simplified though almost all
Shall be as subtle when you are as tall:
Yet clearly in that “almost” all his hope
That hopeful falsehood cannot stem with love
The flood on which all move and wish to move.