Years could but bring them cruel things or wrong;
The World was not for them—nor the World's art
For beings passionate as Sappho's song;
Love was born with them, in them, so intense,
It was their very Spirit—not a sense.
XXVIII.
They should have lived together deep in woods,
Unseen as sings the nightingale;[239] they were
Unfit to mix in these thick solitudes
Called social, haunts of Hate, and Vice, and Care:[DN]