Poem        

 
Eros, his plumes bedraggled by the snow,

Came on me walking through the frozen park.

‘Well met,’ he said, ‘the day is dying now,

So we shall talk together in the dark.’

 

But there was light enough to see his face,

Those eyes of ice, that mouth impassioned stone,

The whole expressionless, as though a place

Where happiness and suffering were not known.