Love
Slowly we disarray
From Underneath the Bough (1898)
Love
Slowly we disarray,
Our leaves grow few,
Few on the bough, and many on the sod:
Round him no ruining autumn tempest blew;
Gathered on genial day,
He fills, fresh as Apollo's bay,
The Hand of God.
✦ ✦ ✦
Codex Note
The Second Book of Songs
Cite this poem
MLA
Field, Michael. “Slowly we disarray.” Poetry Codex, poetrycodex.com/poem/field_m/59/.
Chicago
Field, Michael. “Slowly we disarray.” Poetry Codex. https://poetrycodex.com/poem/field_m/59/.
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