WALKING AT EVE

Walking at eve I met a little child

Running beside a tragic-featured dame,

Who checked his blitheness with a quick “For shame!”

And seemed by sharp caprice froward and mild.

Scarce heeding her the sweet one ran, beguiled

By the lit street, and his eyes too aflame;

Only, at whiles, into his eyes there came

Bewilderment and grief with terror wild.

So, Beauty, dost thou run with tragic life;

So, with the curious world's caress enchanted,

Even of ill things thine ecstasy dost make;

Yet at the touch of fear and vital strife

The splendours thy young innocency forsake,

And with thy foster-mother's woe thou art haunted.