And seven trees of seven wounds...

I Made a House of Houselessness

I made a house of houselessness,
A garden of your going;
And seven trees of seven wounds
You gave me, all unknowing:
I made a feast of golden grief
That you so lordly left me,
I made a bed of all the smiles
Whereof your lip bereft me:
I made a sun of your delay,
Your daily loss, his setting:
I made a wall of all your words
And a lock of your forgetting

Rose O' Neill (Late 19th/early 20th century)