The Sea Hath No King But God

So Spring Comes Merry Towards Me Here, But Earns No Answering Smile From Me, Whose Life Is Twin'd With The Dead Boughs That Winter Still Must Bind, And Whom Today The Spring No More Concerns. Behold, This Crocus Is A Withering Flame; This Snowdrop, Snow; This Apple-blossom's Part To Breed The Fruit That Breeds The Serpent's Art. Nay, For These Spring-flowers, Turn Thy Face From Them, Nor Stay Till On The Year's Last Lily-stem The White Cup Shrivels Round The Golden Heart.

Unto The Man Of Yearning Thought And Aspiration, To Do Nought Is In Itself Almost An Act.

Deep In The Sun-searched Growths The Dragonfly Hangs Like A Blue Thread Loosened From The Sky.

Love, Which Is Quickly Kindled In The Gentle Heart, Seized This Man For The Fair Form That Was Taken From Me, The Manner Still Hurts Me. Love Which Absolves No Beloved One From Loving, Seized Me So Strongly With His Charm That, As Thou Seest, It Does Not Leave Me Yet

Your Eyes Smile Peace.