love lost

A proper winter reminds us of the attractions of months

When it never gets truly dark, when newspapers

Might be read outside at midnight, or close enough,

If only the news of the day by then were not so stale;

A cold blast from a thoroughly northern quarter

Brings nostalgia for better-behaved winds from the

south,

Winds which at the end of their journey

Still retain some memory of those regions

Where it is not quite so important

That windows should close to with a tight fit.

What we do not have, we remember we once had;

Innocence glimpsed in others reminds us

Of the time when our own consciences were clear;

Birdsong heard on a still morning

Brings to mind the memory

That once the skies were filled with birds

And there were hedges and unruly places

For them to nest in; as the seas were full of fish

And there were fishermen with boats and songs

About fish and the catching of them.

What we lose, we think we lose forever,

But we are wrong about this; think of love—

When love is lost, we think it gone,

But it returns, often when least expected,

Forgives us our lack of attention, our failure of faith,

Our cold indifference; forgives us all this, and more;

Returns and says, “I was always there.”

Love, agape, whispers, “Merely remember me,

Don’t think I’ve gone away forever:

I am still here. With you. My power undimmed.

I never left you. See: I am here.”