A sad, sad face, and saddest eyes that ever
Beheld the sun,
Whence came the grief that makes of all thy beauty
One sad sweet smile?
In this bright portrait, where the painter fixed them,
I still behold
The eyes that gladdened, and the lips that loved me,
And, gold on rose,
The cloud of hair that settles on one shoulder
Slipped from its vest.
I almost hear thy Mitylenean love-song
In the spring night,
When the still air was odorous with blossoms,
And in the hour
Thy first wild girl's-love trembled into being,
Glad, glad and fond.
Ah, where is all that wonder? What god's malice
Undid that joy
And set the seal of patient woe upon thee,
O my lost love?