Vivaldi saw the wedding of two kinds,
Watched quietly tense to see just one year prove
That common sense is what a marriage grinds,
The dust remaining dirt or perfect love.
So now the fair, transfigured earth is stark
And all the crops and jewels and picnics taken;
A drowning heart refrozen, in the dark;
The very stars by tempests' turmoils shaken.
Not even Time could turn the other cheek:
The overpowering, unremitting gloom
Made roses wilt and worthy fools grow weak -
And sickle-bearing masks knew what would come.
I hope I am in error: is this proof
I've witnessed that there's no such thing as love?