Fact

Sea-roses blowing on a high, white cliff

Rayed out above their leaves, bent by a whiff
Of salty wind. White snowdrops over snow.
The colour of a field where violets grow.

The tingling rings of honeysuckle bines.

Cloud shadows drawing over Apennines.

Young paper birches, with their lustred stems
Brightening old woods. . . . But similes like these
Are stock in trade with all poets. If you please,
Therefore, we'll put aside such brummagems
And merely state a proven certainty,

Which is that you are fine exceedingly

And all that matters in Heaven or Earth to me.