BEAUTY stooped and chose us early
In the morning when the dew
Washed abandoned meadows. Nearly
All of us went mad. A few,
Insane with pain, with her have lain; with
Joy they served her violence,
And left us to our penitence.
Thence our pitiful confusion.
We have lost a queen’s collusion,
In England, Greenland, or the lost land:
Land forgot, whose fields of shining
Flowers we slowly learned to dread.
Now we live like men who, sinning,
Let their sin corrupt the head.
Bread for us, the alienated,
Is to eat our own destruction,
While custodians find, elated,
Novel cures for our distraction;
With aimless, harmless games to charm us,
Lest her deep enchantment cozen
Us away whom she has chosen.
Frozen in our dark asylum,
Her bright countenance grows solemn.
We wander, ponder where to find her —
Phantom love beyond the hill,
Shape of peril, then of fear,
Then unwelcome stranger, till
All is well and death draws near.