Among the many things that aren’t,
There are those that are:
Away from love that’s close at hand,
Is love that’s very far —
Upon, within, around, without:
What are these all but words
That follow us like puppies, or
That circle us like birds —
I saw her in the yellow spring,
Beside a waking field;
I asked her almost everything
But little was revealed,
Except to someone, far away,
She was the moon and stars —
Like that all that is, she was a part,
Apart from mine
Or ours
To share is human:
