I still can see, though ten white winters lean Between me and the flowers in your hand, Our happiness that vanished summer day, Our captured hope and valor as we stand Under some trees and wave across the summer. Infected by its margins, soon or late All wild things fade away. See how the trees Crumble toward nothing like the last thin scrawls In letters of goodbye; see how the lawn Descends nowhere; and how the luck is over There at the stricken center where we wait With half our smiles, and all our magic gone. And the white terror moves on, lapping inward, Like mist, like silence, that will take it all. Ten years away and wondering what to do, I search my spirit for some flush of pain. But thought by thought the quiet moments fall. My heart, my heart is blank as hills of snow! — And all time leads us toward that last december .. . I stare upon your crumbling smile and keep you. I do not love you now, but I remember. In a Far Summer What can be returned? Time will not curve. The moon,