So little its rending does the Veil resent

So little its rending does the Veil resent

As the Unseen to All ay represent

That Eyes might drink at Beauty's fount
Tears flow to my arrears' account.

That Autumn is-  of aught else dumb

I am Summer's worn out drum

I don't mind it's getting cold

But its doing what I'm told

Wine is bitter in Morning's cup

As is, to Anthems alien, standing up

Love's luck is that it so often die

In the bed where yet I lie.