Martin Robertson

Now and Then


The stars are faint on the pale sky above,

the phosphorus sparkles in the foam below

like sequins on a dress—where have I seen

shining sequins on a white gauze dress?

I do not know—

old, old, infinitely old and long ago.

The wind blows in my face and shouts “Love”,

the wild fresh wind; the rest

is lifted, whirled up in the wind of love;

I open my arms and close them on the wind.