Then came the poets who said love should be
A high and cold and lonely mystery;
And I believed them. So I sought your face
In broken rhymes and barren nights and days
Filled only with the music of your voice.
Now you have gone and all is turned to noise:
The verses grate and love is but a word
On lying tongues. Gone is the song I heard;
And rustling ghosts of dreams that cannot weep
Flit round my brain, and never let me sleep.
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