DEAD LOVE

If this should never end — This wandering in oblivious mood Along a rutless road that leads From wood to deeper wood —

This crunching with unheedful foot Acorns, I think, and withered leaves... Perhaps a rotten root — If this should never end —

This seeing with insentient eyes Something that seems like earth, and, too, Like overbending skies; This feeling, well — that time is space,

Space, time; and each a pallid glass In which Life sees her face — If it should never end — The road, the wandering and the feel

Of dead infinities that seem O'er our dead sense to steal, And like seas cease above — Would it much matter, love?