Modern Love: XXIX

Am I failing? For no longer can I cast A glory round about this head of gold. Glory she wears, but springing from the mould; Not like the consecration of the Past! Is my soul beggared? Something more than earth I cry for still: I cannot be at peace In having Love upon a mortal lease. I cannot take the woman at her worth! Where is the ancient wealth wherewith I clothed Our human nakedness, and could endow With spiritual splendour a white brow That else had grinned at me the fact I loathed? A kiss is but a kiss now! and no wave Of a great flood that whirls me to the sea. But, as you will! we’ll sit contentedly, And eat our pot of honey on the grave.