Constancy by Katherine Bradley I love her with the seasons, with the winds, As the stars worship, as anemones Shudder in secret for the sun, as bees Buzz round an open flower: in all kinds My love is perfect, and in each she finds Herself the goal: then why, intent to teaze And rob her delicate spirit of its ease, Hastes she to range me with inconstant minds? If she should die, if I were left at large On earth without her-I, on earth, the same Quick mortal with a thousand cries, her spell She fears would break. And I confront the charge as sorrowing, and as careless of my fame As Christ intact before the infidel.
