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