John Gray, a friend and Marc-Andre Raffalovich
Hyde Park---November
Pale love, sweet sufferer whose cold hands I chafe,
To whom my show of courage courage lends,
How do they love whose love is always safe,
Sure of the base approval of their friends?
Slaves, masters of their poor world's poor delight,
Obedient, popular and prosperous,
Whi in warm rooms are sheltered from the night,
The bitter, foggy night that comforts us--
How do they love? Not better than we do.
I would not change our happiness for theirs,
Or our unhappiness. My dear, would you?
Your arms around my neck! And great love tears
Great clouds from Heaven and heaps bare trees above
For us to feel each other's kiss and love.
