The heart grows weary after a little Of what it loved for a little while.
She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine.
Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand. Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!
I, being born a woman and distressed By all the needs and notions of my kind.
Euclid Alone Has Looked on Beauty Bare.
Sweet love, sweet thorn, when lightly to my heart. I took your thrust, whereby I since am slain, And I lie disheveled in the grass apart, A sodden thing bedrenched by tears and rain.