I saw our golden years on a black gale,
our time of love spilt in the furious dust.
‘O we are winter-caught, and we must fail,’
said the dark dream, ‘and time is overcast.’
—And woke into the night; but you were there,
and small as seed in the wild dark we lay.
Small as seed under the gulfs of air
is set the stubborn heart that waits for day.
I saw our love the root that holds the vine
in the enduring earth, that can reply,
‘Nothing shall die unless for me it die.
Murder and hate and love alike are mine’;
and therefore fear no winter and no storm
while in the knot of earth that root lies warm.