He pants aflame with irised plumes unfurled
Above the utmost pinnacle of noon.
Yet who are they who wander through the world
Like weary clouds about a wintry moon,
With wan, bewildered brows that bear eternal night?
Love, look not back, nor fill thy heart with woe
Of old, sad loves that perished long ago;
For ever after living lovers tread
Pale, yearning ghosts of all earth's lovers dead.
A little while with life we lead the train