Ellen Waring

A fruitful tree of life is Ellen Waring;Where others of her kind bear when they suit,She pays her husband's toil with yearly fruit,Firm-fleshed as flesh from which it takes its faring.But now her once-smooth skin in spots is wearingRough bark that only hands of death can smooth;Her trunk and limbs grow gnarled and stout to proveThe tree that bears must pay the price of bearing.

She is not so unto her husband's sight.The light through which he sees is filtered byThe colours of one warm September skyWhen she, on their first morning of delight,Stood bare in limbs and body's symmetry,As lissom-lovely as a poplar tree.