Now flow the golden waters of the sun
Back to their northern limits.
This is the night,
The terminus of seasons,
In which that ancient tide,
The life stream of the world,
Turns in its yearly path
And melts the scales of ice
And primitive defences
Of the armadillo winter.
In this long night,
The darkest of the year,
You come to be my sun,
My moon,
My very source of fire.
Our meeting was, with paths of moons
And orbits of the stars,
Before all time determined.

There is a springtime in all seasons
Which is the progeny of love.
This is the season which you bring to me,
Filling my nights with dew
And days with flowers.

For Judy, 23 December 1967