By night they haunted a thicket of April mist, <br />Out of that black ground suddenly come to birth, <br />Else angels lost in each other and fallen on earth. <br />Lovers they knew they were, but why unclasped, unkissed? <br />Why should two lovers be frozen apart in fear? <br />And yet they were, they were. <br /> <br /> <br />Over the shredding of an April blossom <br />Scarcely her fingers touched him, quick with care, <br />Yet of evasions even she made a snare. <br />The heart was bold that clanged within her bosom, <br />The moment perfect, the time stopped for them, <br />Still her face turned from him. <br /> <br /> <br />Strong were the batteries of the April night <br />And the stealthy emanations of the field; <br />Should the walls of her prison undefended yield <br />And open her treasure to the first clamorous knight? <br />“This is the mad moon, and shall I surrender all? <br />If he but ask it I shall.” <br /> <br /> <br />And gesturing largely to the moon of Easter, <br />Mincing his steps and swishing the jubilant grass, <br />Beheading some field-flowers that had come to pass, <br />He had reduced his tributaries faster <br />Had not considerations pinched his heart <br />Unfitly for his art. <br /> <br /> <br />“Do I reel with the sap of April like a drunkard? <br />Blessed is he that taketh this richest of cities; <br />But it is so stainless the sack were a thousand pities. <br />This is that marble fortress not to be conquered, <br />Lest its white peace in the black flame turn to tinder <br />And an unutterable cinder.” <br /> <br /> <br />They passed me once in April, in the mist. <br />No other season is it when one walks and discovers <br />Two tall and wandering, like spectral lovers, <br />White in the season’s moon-gold and amethyst, <br />‘Who touch quick fingers fluttering like a bird <br />Whose songs shall never be heard.<br /><br />John Crowe Ransom<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spectral-lovers/
