XVII

Dear Love is fallen, fallen by my hand!

Lost is my Eden, closed its golden gate;

Winged seraphim, guarding the ways, await

With swords of sudden flame me to withstand.

I am that uncrowned king at whose command

Earth and the sky obeyed, things small and great

Bowed down to serve. Oh, terrible the fate

Of Adam, lonely in an alien land!

Henceforth in bitterness I shall eat bread.

Cursed for my sake, the fields, which day adorns

No more with fruitage of the autumn spread,

Shall bear me briars and abundant thorns;

My glory, too, shall know the moth and rust,—

Come quickly, Death, and be it: Dust to dust!