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Narcissus
O thou with whom I dallied
Through all the hours of noon,—
Sweet water-boy, more pallid
Than any watery moon;
Above thy body turning
White lily-buds were strewn:
Alas, the silver morning,
Alas, the golden noon!
Alas, the clouds of sorrow,
The waters of despair!
I sought thee on the morrow,
And never found thee there.
Since first I saw thee splendid,
Since last I called thee fair,
My happy ways have ended
By waters of despair.
The pool that was thy dwelling
I hardly knew again,
So black it was, and swelling
With bitter wind and rain.
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