My barren Arab way,
My unflowered desert way.
It is thirty years since we two parted,
It is thirty unswept, cobweb years
Since, with a look of indifference, in a storm of elegance,
Like a swift passion—she swept past my youth unhonied.
And I am now a very old man—almost dead;
I am now a very old ornament of lead;
Weismann and Ellis, Burton I have read
These thirty years in bed.