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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XXXIV
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THE SAME CONTINUED
 Yes, Spring is come, but joy alas is gone,--
 Gone ere we knew it, while our foolish eyes,
 Which should have watched its motions every one
 Were looking elsewhere, at the hills, the skies,
 Chasing vain thoughts, as children butterflies,
 Until the hour struck and the day was done,
 And we looked up in passionate surprise
 To find that clouds had blotted out our sun.
 Our joys are gone. And what is left to us,
 Who loved not even love when it was here?
 What but a voice which sobs monotonous
 As these sad waves upon the rocks, the dear
 Fond voice which once made music with our own,
 And which our hearts now ache to think upon.
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