Sonnet: To P. M. D.
My love, no two have ever loved before.
This earth has never known so soft a Spring,
Nor early webs so bright with spider-dew.
Till us, leaves never fully felt the sense
of 'green,' nor tongues the tender turn of thou.
No other two can love as we do now.
Our sight alone the slight circumference
contains of Eden, edged by that high blue
(the silent sun betwixt, our single king)
And downward green, our unique bed and floor.
And when we go, Spring things will still be there:
Birds singing in the misting and the rain
and blossoms bursting in the crystal air:
But after us, no two will love again.
Alan C. Elms
Published in Circa (Penn State University),
Spring 1959, vol. 2, p. 20. Reprinted by permission.
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