Portrait

She has no need to fear the fall     Of harvest from the laddered reach     Of orchards, nor the tide gone ebbing         From the steep beach.     Nor hold to pain's effrontery     Her body's bulwark, stern and savage,     Nor be a glass, where to forsee         Another's ravage.     What she has gathered, and what lost,   She will not find to lose again.   She is possessed by time, who once       Was loved by men.