There is a lady in that primal place
Where I was born, who with her ancient smile
Made glad the sons of heaven. She loved to chase
The springtime round the world. To all your race
She was a sudden quivering in the wood
Or a new thought springing in solitude.
13
“Till, in prodigious hour, one swollen with youth,
Blind from new broken prison, knowing not
Himself nor her, nor how to mate with truth,