Romance with firm and eager tread
Walked at his shoulder;
He never turned his rapt, poetic head
Once to behold her.

He sought her in the skies, in dreams,
In mystic meadows;
He plunged through myths and lost her face in gleams,
Clasping her shadows.

“It is this age,” he cried, “these things
Blind and bewilder!
Weep for Romance, with frail and trembling wings;
This world has killed her.”

And still he seeks her, warm or dead—
The quest enthralling!
And still Romance, with strong and tireless tread,
Follows him, calling. . .