Fanny! If in your arms my soul could slip -- Arms that my love first fancied -- not the grave! Cities of Hate and Madness round me rave; And Love with anguished finger at the lip Fares shelterless! These have my fellowship -- Memory and Loneliness! What's left? To brave Death! But before it Tragedy: not to crave You changed or truly seen! The hemlock drip Of rains upon half-lived or ruined springs, Where you dance, smiling, numbs me now, and soothes Hopes that once sought a beauty gone before. Losses have stripped me! But the vanishings Of winter winds leave me to starry truths -- Who once desired you, but desire no more! |