four

What foul fate pulls from him sweet Aphrodite?
She, whom fey drama sent alas, this black noon dares mark spent;
with mourning wisdom to lament each perfect still of memory
of smile and laugh as gently she tends farewell his heart.

Where that happy day of first fair greeting given
with searching eyes which yearned to discover;
all else seems stilled, their laughter swift riven
from parting lips which with silent words seem to hover.

What deeds unexpected has she to bear within her hell
that marks stalking steps behind her unsure gait;
so forbids she her soul to know and heart to tell
what budding within her bosom she dares not harvest.

Flew he in retreat to that hidden dell still green
finding Pan caught in play, light on summers soft air;
safe within immortal moment his aching stare serene
evermore memory she, whom once he knew so far yet still fair.

What mis-wrought tragedy this, such their love denied
twixt feared want and faithful duty undone that angels cried.

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