Not sure about it...
Darkness and fog throughout the town
buses with smudgy windows hurtling past.
clear as a flower in sun I glimpsed
her face for moments. She went by so fast
young, sad-eyed, blonde. A princess
I gasped, and caught myself, was still
Sometimes our yearning brings old ghosts to us
from tombs or urns or underneath the hill
Dreaming I've seen her - in thick station crowds
glancing my way or looking down from clouds
living or dead but lovely, dressed in shrouds
or in couture. Why should she come to me?
Jaded with heaven's crystal sanctity
why seek my dowdy mediocrity?