21.06.2007, 21:12
A POET'S SECOND LOVE.
I.
I SHARE your heart with her, its former Queen,
Who taught your lips the song of love to sing—
To whose high altar you were wont to bring
Such laurels as no Fair since Time hath been
Has decked her brow with. Joy was there and teen,
And reverence, as for some most sacred thing
Set high in Heaven for all men's worshipping;
Such laurels gathers no man twice, I ween.
Your second love, ungarlanded, uncrowned—
Fit for life's daily uses, let us say—
Whose lips have never thrilled you with sweet sound,
Hears from the grave your first love's voice, to-day.
With scornful laughter mock her hope to fill
The heart ruled by its earliest sovereign still.
I.
I SHARE your heart with her, its former Queen,
Who taught your lips the song of love to sing—
To whose high altar you were wont to bring
Such laurels as no Fair since Time hath been
Has decked her brow with. Joy was there and teen,
And reverence, as for some most sacred thing
Set high in Heaven for all men's worshipping;
Such laurels gathers no man twice, I ween.
Your second love, ungarlanded, uncrowned—
Fit for life's daily uses, let us say—
Whose lips have never thrilled you with sweet sound,
Hears from the grave your first love's voice, to-day.
With scornful laughter mock her hope to fill
The heart ruled by its earliest sovereign still.