Modern Love: XLVII

Their sense is with their senses all mixed in,

Destroyed by subtleties these women are!

More brain, O Lord, more brain! or we shall mar

Utterly this fair garden we might win.

Behold! I looked for peace, and thought it near.

Our inmost hearts had opened, each to each.

We drank the pure daylight of honest speech.

Alas! that was the fatal draught, I fear.

For when of my lost Lady came the word,

This woman, O this agony of flesh!

Jealous devotion bade her break the mesh,

That I might seek that other like a bird.

I do adore the nobleness! despise

The act! She has gone forth, I know not where.

Will the hard world my sentience of her share?

I feel the truth; so let the world surmise.