Of the first swallows where the lane’s inclined,
An ebb of wavy wings to serve my mind
For round Spring’s vision. Ah, some equal grace
(The calm sense of seen beauty without sight)
Befell thee, honorable heart! no less
In patient stupor walking from the dawn;
Albeit thou too wert loser of life’s light,
Like fallen Adam in the wilderness,
Aware of naught but of the thing withdrawn.
