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verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi
To C. from C.
You,
dappled smile
on frozen snows—
wind of March,
ballet of boughs
sprung on the snow,
moaning and glowing
your little «ohs»—
white-limbed doe,
gracious,
would I could know
yet
the gliding grace
of all your days,
the foam-like lace
of all your ways—
to-morrow is frozen
down on the plain—
you, dappled smile,
you, glowing laughter.
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