Pastoral by John Montague

I.

Lyricize this, my fretful love,
Love is the claw within the velvet glove,
Love is the movement of a withered hand,
Love is a dawn illusion
Blandly planned:
How can brief blood understand?

II.

Love is the movement of the race
Blood-blindfolded to a chosen face:
Movement of unlawful limbs
In a marriage of two whims
Consummation of disgrace
Beneath the burning-glass of grace.

III.

And yet, my love, we two have come
Into love as to a lighted room
where all is gaiety and humbling grace.
Hearts long bruised with indolence,
With harsh fatigue of unrelated fact, can trace
Redeeming patterns of experience