There was a woman lived by Bloomsbury Square,— She was not all that womankind can be,— Yet she was good to me, I thought her fair,— I loved her, she was all the world to me; O, I was adoration, she divine, And star or moon could not so sweetly shine. I will say little—it was neither’s fault— Yet to a bitter time my loving came, A time of doubt, of faltering, of halt, A time of passionate begging and of shame, When I threw all life’s purpose at her feet, And she stood strange to me, and cold and sweet— Child that I was! for when it came, that hour, It was in no wise as my heart had thought— For comic devils had me in their power, She laughed at me, we wrangled, and I fought, And there was hot breath gasped in murderous words.... It was at dusk, when sweetly sang the birds.... Then there was silence—oh, how still and cold! Without good-bye I went; for she had said— “Young fool!”—that was a rapier-turn that told; I could have killed her, for she knew I bled— And smiled a little, as I turned away; We have not known each other since that day. I had expected, if my love went wrong, The world in sympathy; I suffered pain That evening when I heard the birds in song, And stars swam out, and there was no hope for rain, And the air was dense with lilac-sweet.... I walked In sullen way; fierce with my soul I talked—; And knew what knave I was; yet I devised, Being still too angry for sincerer grief, Some pain,—appropriate for a soul despised,— In simulated venom crushed a leaf,— And glared at strangers, thinking I would kill Any that dared to thwart my casual will. So, passing through dark streets, with heedless eyes, I came upon a beggar, who had drawn Pictures, upon the stones, of ships, and skies; The moonlight lay upon them, grey and wan— And they seemed beautiful, alive they seemed; Beside them, cap in hand, their maker dreamed. Above him there a long, long while I stood, Striving to go, like dream-stuff, to his heart; Striving to pierce his infinite solitude, To be of him, and of his world, a part; I stood beside his seas, beneath his skies, I felt his ships beneath me dip and rise; I heard his winds go roaring through tall trees, Thunder his sails, and drive the lifted spray; I heard the sullen beating of his seas; In a deep valley, at the end of day, I walked through darkness green along with him, And saw the little stars, by moon made dim, Peer softly through the dusk, the clouds between, And dance their dance inviolable and bright; Aloft on barren mountains I have seen With him the slow recession of the night, The morning dusk, the broad and swimming sun, And all the tree-tops burn, and valleys run