Джудит Аранделл Райт (Judith Arundell Wright)

Late Spring

The moon drained white by day
lifts from the hill
where the old pear-tree fallen in storm
springs up in blossom still.

Women believe in the moon:
this branch I hold
is not more white and still than she
whose flower is ages old,

and so I carry home
flowers from the pear
that makes such obstinate tokens still
for fruit it cannot bear.