Thou farest forth with grace, but to my heart
Thou ever clingest still. Fly on and feast
On nectar such as men have never wrought;
In thee is trust and love and, why not, thought?
Was That Somebody I?
O child of hope, why left to go astray,
And rend this heart of mine?
Some one knew not, nor cared what ruthless way
You wend—once babe benign—