Page 41 of 42 THE NEW REMORSE - Charmides and Other Poems

THE NEW REMORSE

The sin was mine; I did not understand. So now is music prisoned in her cave, Save where some ebbing desultory wave Frets with its restless whirls this meagre strand. And in the withered hollow of this land Hath Summer dug herself so deep a grave, That hardly can the leaden willow crave One silver blossom from keen Winter's hand.

But who is this who cometh by the shore? (Nay, love, look up and wonder!) Who is this Who cometh in dyed garments from the South? It is thy new-found Lord, and he shall kiss The yet unravished roses of thy mouth, And I shall weep and worship, as before.

***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK Charmides and Other Poems***

		"True, we love life, not because we are used to living, but because we are used to loving. There is always some madness in love, but there is also always some reason in madness. - Friedrich Nietzsche - Thus Spoke Zarathustra, First Part: On Reading and Wri" Friedrich Nietzsche