Clouds Without Water

Lonely, o life, art thou when circumstance Occult or open keeps us twain apart! Lamenting through the dreary day there dance Anaemic thoughts; the bruised and bloodless heart Beats as if tired of life, as I am tired Who all these days have never seen your face, Nor touched the body that my soul desired, Nor have inhaled the perfume of the place That you make sweet —- black dogs of doubt and fear Howl at my heels while care plies whip and spur, Driving me down to the dull damned dead sphere Where is no sight or sound or scent of Her Our Lady Dian, but where hag and witch Hecat bestrides her broom ~~ the bestial bitch!