The Sorrow of Love

The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves, / The brilliant moon and all the milky sky, / And all that famous harmony of leaves, / Had blotted out man’s image and his cry. // A girl arose that had red mournful lips / And seemed the greatness of the world in tears, / Doomed like Odysseus and the labouring ships / And proud as Priam murdered with his peers; // Arose, and on the instant clamorous eaves, / A climbing moon upon an empty sky, / And all that lamentation of the leaves, / Could but compose man’s image and his cry.