From the warm chair
To the wind's welter
Flee, if storm's your shelter.
But no, you needs must part,
Fling him his release--
On whose ungenerous heart
Alone you are at peace.
IV
Not dead of wounds, not borne
Home to the village on a litter of branches, torn
By splendid claws and the talk all night of the villagers,
But stung to death by gnats
Lies Love.
What swamp I sweated through for all these years
Is at length plain to me.
V
This line slightly drifts us away from the theme of Death and decay, and into Heartbreak. Or perhaps this WHOLE POEM is illustrating heartbreak.
Not So Far as the Forest