I recently came across a lovely poem by Sheila Wingfield (1906-1992), whose poetry I had not encountered previously. The poem brought to mind two other poems that go together well with it. (I have previously posted those two poems, but I think it is worthwhile to see all of the poems together.) The theme is Vanished Love -- although, having said that, I notice that I am violating one of my cardinal rules: "Do not attempt to paraphrase or summarize a poem." In any event, here are the poems.
The tree still bends over the lake,
And I try to recall our love,
Our love which had a thousand leaves.
Sheila Wingfield, Collected Poems: 1938-1983 (Enitharmon Press 1983).
The Wind in the Tree
She has decided that she no longer loves me.
There is nothing to be done. I long ago
As a child thought the tree sighed 'Do I know
Whether my motion makes the wind that moves me?'
F. T. Prince, Collected Poems (1979).
Now I remember nothing of our love
So well as the crushed bracken and the wings
Of doves among dim branches far above --
Strange how the count of time revalues things!
Patrick MacDonogh, Poems (The Gallery Press 2001).