This jar of roses and carnations on the window-sill,
Crimson upon sky-grey and snow-wrapt mountain-pallor,
(Sharp storm’s asseveration of cold winter’s on-coming,)
How strange their look, how lovely, rich and foreign,
The living symbol of a season put away.
A letter-sheaf, bound up by time-frayed filament,
I found; laid by; youth’s flowering . . . .
The exotic words blazed up blood-red against death’s shadow,
Red upon grey. Red upon grey.
From Day and Night (Caxton, 1939)