from Heart of Love

Young man who wanders by the way,
thou hast forgot the fossils of Faust.
The blinding chariot of day
hath dumbly watched, autumnal May
is not as filled with frost as they,
thy consorts bidding for the joust.

And were the lanes so lovely there
amid Diane's voluptuous spring
ringed with enchantment by her chair,
O Luna, Proserpina's heir,
the huntress played, and unaware
thou scarcely knew the arrow's sting?

Thou wert enrobed, e'en as thy sire,
and sat upon thy Stygian throne;
the agates spun by hellish fire
were carven as was thy desire,
and tongued with musick, as the lyre,
and thou wert still alone.

The laurel-tree shall bloom and fade
as shall the swelling of the ford;
the sun shall kiss the grass and glade
where once Diana's children played,
the leaf shall wither in the shade,
but not the children of the Lord.

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