I was a fool to strive to put to rout
My many foes:—thy musings tender-glad,
Which all had said:—"Avoid him! he is mad—
Mad with his love, and Love's erratic shout."
XI.
I should have known,—I should have guess'd in time,—
That, like a soft mirage at twilight hour,
My dream would melt, and rob me of its dower.
I should have guess'd that all the heights sublime,
Which look'd like spires and cities built in rhyme,