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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: XIV
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HE HAS FALLEN FROM THE HEIGHT OF HIS LOVE
 Love, how ignobly hast thou met thy doom!
 Ill--seasoned scaffolding by which, full--fraught
 With passionate youth and mighty hopes, we clomb
 To our heart`s heaven, fearing, doubting, naught!
 Oh love, thou wert too frail for such mad sport,
 Too rotten at thy core, designed too high:
 And we who trusted thee our death have bought,
 And bleeding on the ground must surely die.
 --I will not see her. What she now may be
 I care not. For the dream within my brain
 Is fairer, nobler, and more kind than she;
 And with that vision I can mock at pain.
 God! Was there ever woman half so sweet,
 Or death so bitter, or at such dear feet?
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