To build a perfect beauty in rhyme
Are overthrown by a woman’s gaze
And by the unlabouring brood of the skies:
And therefore my heart will bow, when dew
Is dropping sleep, until God burn time,
Before the unlabouring stars and you.
HE HEARS THE CRY OF THE SEDGE
I wander by the edge
Of this desolate lake
Where wind cries in the sedge