The light comes back with Columbine; she brings A touch of this, a little touch of that, Coloured confetti, and a favour hat, Patches, and powder, dolls that work by strings And moons that work by switches, all the things That please a sick man's fancy, and a flat Spry convalescent kiss, and a small pat Upon the pillow, paper offerings. The light goes out with her; the shadows sprawl. Where she has left her fragrance like a shawl I lie alone and pluck the counterpane, Or on a dizzy elbow rise and hark And down like dominoes along the dark Her little silly laughter spills again!