First Love

    Though nurtured¹ like the sailing moon

    In beauty‘s murderous brood，

    She walked awhile and blushed awhile

    And on my pathway stood

    Until I thought her body bore

    A heart of flesh and blood.

    But since I laid a hand thereon

    And found a heart of stone

    I have attempted many things

    And not a thing is done，

    For every hand is lunatic

    That travels on the moon.

    She smiled and that transfigured me

    And left me but a lout²，

    Maundering here， and maundering there，

    Emptier of thought

    Than the heavenly circuit of its stars

    When the moon sails out.