THE pale bubbles      The lovely pale-gold bubbles of the globe-flowers
     In a great swarm¹ clotted² and single
     Went rolling in the dusk towards the river
     To where the sunset hung its wan³ gold cloths;
     And you stood alone, watching them go,
     And that mother-love like a demon⁴ drew you
        from me
     Towards England.
 
     Along the road, after nightfall,
     Along the glamorous⁵ birch-tree avenue
     Across the river levels
     We went in silence, and you staring to England.
 
     So then there shone within the jungle darkness
     Of the long, lush under-grass, a glow-worm's
        sudden
     Green lantern of pure light, a little, intense, fusing
        triumph,
     White and haloed with fire-mist, down in the
        tangled⁶ darkness.
 
     Then you put your hand in mine again, kissed me,
        and we struggled to be together.
     And the little electric flashes went with us, in the
        grass,
     Tiny lighthouses, little souls of lanterns, courage
        burst into an explosion of green light
     Everywhere down in the grass, where darkness was
        ravelled in darkness.
 
     Still, the kiss was a touch of bitterness on my mouth
     Like salt, burning in.
     And my hand withered⁷ in your hand.
     For you were straining with a wild heart, back,
        back again,
     Back to those children you had left behind, to all
        the æons of the past.
     And I was here in the under-dusk of the Isar.
 
     At home, we leaned in the bedroom window
     Of the old Bavarian Gasthaus,
     And the frogs in the pool beyond thrilled with
        exuberance⁸,
     Like a boiling pot the pond crackled with happiness,
     Like a rattle⁹ a child spins round for joy, the night
        rattled¹⁰
     With the extravagance of the frogs,
     And you leaned your cheek on mine,
     And I suffered it, wanting to sympathise.
 
     At last, as you stood, your white gown falling from
        your breasts,
     You looked into my eyes, and said: "But this is
        joy!"
     I acquiesced¹¹ again.
     But the shadow of lying was in your eyes,
     The mother in you, fierce as a murderess, glaring
        to England,
     Yearning towards England, towards your young
        children,
     Insisting upon your motherhood, devastating¹².
 
     Still, the joy was there also, you ............