Would I had met you in my days of strength,
Before my tide of life had turned, my Love;
These lightning streaks, that come in fitful starts,
Are not the great forked lightnings you deserve;
Too many silver moons has my life worn
Into an old thin rim, since I was born.

What you deserve are those enchanted notes
We sing in dreams at night; so pure and sweet
That kings and queens sit down with bended heads,
And listen with their crowns laid at their feet:
Those songs that pass, without a voice on Earth,
And perish in the brain that gives them birth.