Brighter than snow on glittering Alps, the soul
Of my lost love was, bluer than the haze

Of those same hills, more violent and deep

Her eyes’ clear gaze,

Dreaming of hidden wonders; and the goal

Of life grew luminous o’er Time’s empurpled steep.


She loved me then; she loves me now, afar.
Ah, she knew not! and I, so steeped and stained

With fierce sins, knew myself unworthy of

The heart I gained,

And, a lost mariner whose polar star

He is ashamed to look to, cast away her love.


I would not have her love a thing so vile,
I would not link her life with such as mine!

O cursed sin, to leave my soul too high

To cheat the shrine!

I drave Love forth, Love lingered yet awhile

So that I might not quite win Hell before I die.


O little root of nobleness left thus
Dead since it has no power to grow, to bloom; [43]

Live, since I may not bury it within

The gaping tomb

Where virtue lies, that I, imperious,

Long since interred with hope, and all life’s joy save



Previous | Index | Next

Preface | Dedicace | Prefatory Sonnet to the Virgin Mary | A Fragment | The Rainbow | With a Copy of ‘Poems and Ballads’ | Ad Lydiam, Ut Secum A Martio Fugeret | Contra Conjugium T.B.B. | A Ballad of Choosing | A Jealous Lover | Ballade de la Jolie Marion | At Stockholm | Mathilde | Yet Time To Turn | All Night | Ode to Venus Callipyge | Volupté | …