Through her body’s fair white screen,
And the light thereof might guide him up the cedarn alleys green.
But for me, I saw no splendour—
All my sword was my child-heart;
And the wood refused surrender
Of that bower it held apart,
Safe as Œdipus’s grave-place, ’mid Colone’s olives swart.
I have lost—oh many a pleasure—
Many a hope, and many a power—
Studious health and merry leisure—