Dead Love

If this should never end—
This wandering in oblivious mood
Along a rutless road that leads
From wood to deeper wood —
This crunching with unheedful foot
Acorns, I think, and withered leaves ..
Perhaps a rotten root;

If this should never end—
This seeing with insentient eyes
Something that seems like earth, and, too,
Like overbending skies;
This feeling, well—that time is space,
Space, time; and each a pallid glass
In which Life sees her face;

If it should never end—
The road, the wandering, and the feel
Of dead infinities that seem
Over our sense to steal,
And like seas cease above,
Would it much matter, love?