HAD I loved the wind In its flight,
   Or the storm-cloud darkening the blue.
Had I loved the meteor crossing the night,
   I had held it closer than you!

Had I followed the path of the moon
   As it quivers on each wave's crest,
I had touched the fount of its light more soon
   Than the outermost veil of your breast.

Whirl on, whirl on, on your way!
   I can wait, my sun-kissed flower.
At the bitter end of your burning day,
You will hang your head and the gods will say,
   "She is his. It is his hour."

No! No! Forgive me, dear heart!
   Even then I'll leave you free.
The long pursuit, the cruel smart,
   Shall unavenged be.
Till of yourself you lift your lips,
   My hour shall dwell in its eclipse.