Night Ballad by Sean Hewitt
The owl in the woods has a hollowed cry and the moth has a furry flutter – but you, my love, and me alone have the tender touch of another –
Unspirited now, untenanted waste, the meadow all locked in its end; all hours are after, all pasts are done, and the future too heavy to bend –
the hedgehog is haunted by dreams of the fox and the fox by the bands of men – but come, my love, with me, alone to inhabit those years again:
come down, come down, between the yews to the glade where the last flowers bloom; for all colour is gone, all wonder is lost to the coal and the petrol fume;
come petal the night, its amorous scent, with primrose, and jasmine, and phlox – what spirits might rise, what vapours appear when our seeds have ruined the clocks?
(here)
