Modern Love

I

Knee-deep among the buttercups, the sun
Gilding the scutcheons and the gilded mail,
Gilding the crowned helm and leopard crest,
Dear, see they pant and strike at your desire.

And one goes down among the emerald grass,
And one stands over him his dagger poised,
His visor raised, his blood-shot eyes a-travel
Over the steel that lies between his feet,
Crushing the buttercups…and so the point goes in
Between the gorget and the habergeon…
And blood floods out upon the buttercups,
Gules, or and vert beneath an azure sky.

And now the victor strides knee-deep in grass,
His surcoat brushing down the flower-heads
To where above the hedge a hennin peeps
Wide, white and waving like a wild swan's wings,
And a green dress, a mantlet all of vair
And such dear eyes…. Dear, you've the dearest eyes
In all the world—the most compassionate eyes.

II

…In your garden, here
The light streams down between the silvered leaves,
And we sit still and whisper…But our fight!
The gross Black Prince among the buttercups
Could grin and girn and pant and sweive and smite
And, in ten minutes it was win or lose:
A coffin board or ale, a coarse caress
Or just an end of it for Life or Death…
Is that a footfall on the gravel path?
Are your stretched nerves on edge? And do you see?
There, white and black, the other couple go.
And if some others knew! Oh, buttercups,
And blood upon the grass beneath the sun…
Give me your garden where the street lamp shines
Between the leaves: your garden seat, your hand,
Just touching mine—and all the long, long fight
That lies before us, you of the dear eyes.