TO MY WIFE

I can write no stately proem

   As a prelude to my lay;

From a poet to a poem

   I would dare to say.

For if of these fallen petals

   One to you seem fair,

Love will waft it till it settles

   On your hair.

And when wind and winter harden

   All the loveless land,

It will whisper of the garden,

   You will understand.