A Calvinist in Love

by Jack Clemo

I will not kiss you, country fashion,

By hedgesides where

Weasel and hare

Claim kinship with our passion.

I care no more for fickle moonlight:

Would rather see

Your face touch me

Under a claywork dune-light.

I want no scent or softness round us

When we embrace;

We could not trace

Therein what beauties bound us.

This bare clay-pit is truest setting

For love like ours:

No bed of flowers

But sand-ledge for our petting.

The Spring is not our mating season:

The lift of sap

Would but entrap

Our souls and lead to treason.

This truculent gale, this pang of winter

Awake our joy,

For they employ

Moods that made Calvary splinter.

We need no vague and dreamy fancies:

Care not to sight

The Infinite

In transient necromancies.

No poetry on earth can fasten

Its vampire mouth

Upon our youth:

We know the sly assassin.

We cannot fuse with fallen Nature’s

Our rhythmic tide:

It is allied

With laws beyond the creatures.

Published by Robin

I'm a retired journalist who still has stories to tell. This seems to be a good place to tell them.

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