Along the Kentucky River on first May; br You strode tall, I stumbled, over roots br of old oaks that ridged across our rough path: br bright in new leafy growth, br Nature's cynics giggled, girdled, showing their ages br in deep rings and dingy bark. br Then ritual cries of Isis rose up in me br and I boldly wished to kiss you br beside a cold brook br where willow trees stuck long-fingered, br delicately-nailed branches into very springs br of rivers under granite; Oh! how hard the memory lingers br of that freezing, rushing passion br gushing out of dark caves in sheer gray rock.