I met at peep of day
Sadness, twin daughter of divine Unrest,
In hood and stole of grey.
And Longing, raimented like one distressed.
With these a Shepherd came
His eyes and hair like flame,
Fingering a double pipe, Desire by name,—
Desire who leads his pasturing dreams abroad
Through fields of hope and fear. To whom,
“My house,” I said, “denies ye room;”
And my heart answered, all unawed,
“Sigh, sigh no more.”

I wrought of sheltering leaves
A faery house with this sign, “Come not nigh,
Grief, or thy child that grieves,
Young Dream or tongueless Tear or murmuring Sigh,

Or flocks of blithe Desire
Which fare and feed like fire,
Sadness and Longing, to your cells retire.
So shall my spirit rest from strain and strife.”
Then, as the dusk which weeps in dew
O'er the dead sun, a drear voice grew,—
O 'twas the voice of Death-in-Life,
“Love, love no more.”

My heart said, “Be it so,
Less love, less care; no love brings sure relief.
Back to his world I throw
Love's flowers, which fading turn their balms to grief.”
Forth from my door I spurned
Each love-flower Love had earned,
Turned to my empty house, and, as I turned,
The stars went wailing slow their dying hymn,
And God himself, no more divine,
Burned low on Life's last altar-shrine,
Then sighed to all his worlds death-dim,
“Live, live no more.”