by RM

  Wanting is — what?
      Summer redundant,
      Blueness abundant,
      — Where is the blot?
Beamy the world, yet a blank all the same,
— Framework which waits for a picture to frame:
What of the leafage, what of the flower?
Roses embowering with naught they embower!
Come then, complete incompletion, O comer,
Pant thro’ the blueness, perfect the summer!
      Breathe but one breath
      Rose-beauty above,
      And all that was death
      Grows life, grows love,
      Grows love!


Robert Browning