I sat with her, and spoke right goldenly
Of love and beauty, and because her hair
Brushed me, I plucked down Sirius like a pear,
To braid it, and had laughter for my fee;
Yea, suing her to heavier slavery.
Had all but plucked the fruitage of her lips,
When, lo! inked clouds and absolute eclipse,
Courteous, but unmistakable ennui.
Then did I mind me of the sorrow wailed
Thro’ poets’ books, and how the streaming torch
Of suns greater than Sirius has failed,
And as I shambled out the menial's door
I heard new feet sound in the statued porch
And salutations I had heard before.