Fruitful Love attained a kingly stature,
Rich as harvests reaped in Arcady.
“That which brought me up, is dead and riven,
Dead the youthful world which was my shield;
And this breast, which used to harbor heaven,
Dead and dry as any stubble-field.
Still my Springlike sorrows sing and cover
With their friendly comfort every smart—
But the morning of my life is over
And the Spring has faded from my heart....