sonnet She cannot dim the sunlight, bend the wind, Manipulate the course of idle dream; She cannot love a fool, deceive a friend, Or count the oblong stones in frozen streams. She cannot gauge the seasons, make them pass Beyond the reach of consciousness and time. She sits behind a pane of frosted glass To look into some circumstance sublime. And yet I catch her traces in the air Her visions navigate the seas of space. I probe within, and sense her presence there; The form of time casts shadows on her face. And fancies in her eyes turn pale, and fade. The ways of love are cold, and retrograde. HELEN TAYLOR