The Frost of 
Death was on the 
Pane,
"Secure your Flower" 
said he.
Like Sailors 
fighting with a Leak
We fought 
Mortality.

Our passive Flower 
we held to Sea -

To Mountain, 
To the Sun -
Yet even on his 
Scarlet shelf
To crawl the 
Frost begun -

We pried him 
back
Ourselves we 
wedged
Himself and her 
between.

Yet easy as the 
narrow Snake
He forked his 
way along

Till all her 
helpless beauty 
bent
And then our 
wrath begun -
We hunted him 
to his Ravine

We chased him 
to his Den -
We hated Death 
and hated Life
And nowhere 
was to go -
Than Sea and 
continent there 
is
A larger - it 
is Woe
Emily -