Pickthorn Manor: 22

Amy Lowell

“In such a night—” she laid the book aside,
 She could outnight the poet by thinking back.
In such a night she came here as a bride.
 The date was graven in the almanack
Of her clasped memory.  In this very room
 Had Everard uncloaked her.  On this seat
    Had drawn her to him, bade her note the trees,
 How white they were and sweet
And later, coming to her, her dear groom,
Her Lord, had lain beside her in the gloom
    Of moon and shade, and whispered her to ease.

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