Wanting is — what?

Summer redundant,

Blueness abundant,

— Where is the blot?

Beamy the world, yet a blank all the same,

— Framework which waits for a picture to frame:

What of the leafage, what of the flower?

Roses embowering with naught they embower!

Come then, complete incompletion, O comer,

Pant thro’ the blueness, perfect the summer!

Breathe but one breath

Rose-beauty above,

And all that was death

Grows life, grows love,

Grows love!