When your face
  appeared over my crumpled life
  at first I understood 
  only the poverty of what I have.
  Then its particular light
  on woods, on rivers, on the sea,
  became my beginning in the coloured world
  in which I had not yet had my beginning.
  I am so frightened, I am so frightened
  of the unexpected sunrise finishing,
  of revelations
  and tears and the excitement finishing.
  I don't fight it, my love is this fear.
  I nourish it who can nourish nothing,
  love's shipshod watchman.
  Fear hems me in.
  I am concious that these minutes are short
  and that the colours in my eyes will vanish
  when your face sets.

(Yevtushenko)

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