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The Spike or Victoria College Review 1947

The Seasonless

The Seasonless

The seasonless go without bread,
They do not feel hunger, nor any
Sensation of heat or cold, colour or light,
Have no hint of the passing of summer,
The conquest and curse of autumn;
They walk the earth without footfall,
Never disturb the leaves on the lost path
That takes them into their knowledge,
Call no wrecked images from night,
Build no hopes upon a dawn.

So go the seasonless, singly, unhanded,
Taking no life from the multiple world,
Seeing no harbours, no ships of night sailing
Past dawning and daylight, past hope of recall:
Theirs is no garden, no quickness of loving
Under the foliage bent to the flower,
Sky cut by trees, immaculate weaving,
Sun beating minds to unified pain;
No joining or parting, gaining or losing,
Only the unredeemable time.

W. H. Oliver