Man's love is of man's life a thing apart...
—Byron

A thought of her always
stayed in my head, at the back of it,
lardered there like a berry
in a squirrel's cheek. Those days,
that was my amulet
against every adversary—

loneliness, weltschmerz, dull
age and its self-mockery
in presence of anything
bouyant and beautiful.
I would think of her, you see—
young, lovely and welcoming...

Now I am not so sure—
with her gone—that "man's love
is of man's life a thing apart."—Unless hid failure
and the slow dissolution of
all purpose be worth husbanding.