Always, sweetheart, <br />Carry into your room the blossoming boughs of cherry, <br />Almond and apple and pear diffuse with light, that very <br />Soon strews itself on the floor; and keep the radiance of spring <br />Fresh quivering; keep the sunny-swift March-days waiting <br />In a little throng at your door, and admit the one who is plaiting <br />Her hair for womanhood, and play awhile with her, then bid her depart. <br /> <br /> A come and go of March-day loves <br /> Through the flower-vine, trailing screen; <br /> A fluttering in of doves. <br /> Then a launch abroad of shrinking doves <br /> Over the waste where no hope is seen <br /> Of open hands: <br /> Dance in and out <br />Small-bosomed girls of the spring of love, <br />With a bubble of laughter, and shrilly shout <br />Of mirth; then the dripping of tears on your glove.<br /><br />David Herbert Lawrence<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/irony-3/
