  If this should never end— This wandering in oblivious mood Along a rutless road that leads From wood to deeper wood— This crunching with unheedful foot Acorns, I think, and withered leaves ... Perhaps a rotten root— If this should never end— This seeing with insentient eyes Something that seems like earth, and, too, Like overbending skies; This feeling, well—that time is space, Space, time; and each a pallid glass In which Life sees her face— If it should never end— The road, the wandering and the feel Of dead infinities that seem O'er our dead sense to steal, And like seas cease above— Would it much matter, love? |
|
