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The wounded Eros

LII

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WHEN last I saw thee, thou wert uppermost In every thought that stirred my inner being, In every act thy presence I was seeing. And now thou comest to me like a ghost, While I receive thee as some phantom host; For every time I touch thee thou art fleeing Far from the tempest of my heart; agreeing With some sad fate that happiness hath lost. Now, though I strive to sever from my heart Those elements divine that make thy love For me the object of my life’s desire, There cometh that, which doth from Heaven depart, To lift me once again to Heaven above, And thus forbid that I should quench love’s fire.

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