Unlike the cool mountain vesper rest – joy’s
Quiet beat replied by bass of night’s fall,
Mind’s sight eyes, sleepless, her unmelting snows,
O'er my bed’s vale her heights swing star-hung tall –
Unlike this toss and turn, this hedged-in room:
Love sickens to drain down death’s heaviness.
I wake astert, find love, bowed in the gloom,
Reproach and smite me for my chariness,
Then trail to face the crowd. The daily crowd
Sees here no deity. They know not what
They do. Stripped common, a furrow over-ploughed,
I hid my face when love’s noon turned a blot.
My nib thrusts to love’s dead heart through his side
To draw in blood. Its well and point has dried.