Fell; seeing on the happy, happy hills,
Above that den of dust and thorny thirst,
The bastioned walls of Love in glory burst,
Built by sweet glades of Poesy and rills.
O Life, I had not life enough to strive!
O Hope, I had not hope enough to dream!
Death drew me to him and to sigh did seem,
"Love? Love?—thou canst not reach her and yet live!
"For sorrow, joy, and hate, and scorn are bound
About thee, girdling so, thy lips are dumb;