1.
It had been easier, not loving.
I knew I had grown harder than the trees
In which I held you all the afternoon,
The tall blue saplings leaning
Each on each, their strength outgrowing,
And suddenly we two were swaying
Each upon the other leaning.
It had been easier, not loving.
II.
It was much easier, all alone.
The tall slim saplings were exhausted so
With tallness and with slenderness they bowed
At the touch of wind or bird.
And the lightness of your hands
Bowed me also with their guerdon,
Love being gravel in the wound
When the silent lovers know
Swaying in the misty rain
The old oppression of the burden
Growing in them as they go,
Though trees are felled and grow again,
Far and farther each from each.
Longing hardens like a stone.
Lovers go but hardly, all alone.