Heliodore Fled

O WORLD that turneth as a vane that veers !
In what pure Isles beyond the sensual sight
Dwells Heliodore, whose presence was the light
Of Life's obscure probationary spheres ? —
We pledged her — fervently — our fairest years ;
But she is fled ; and, like the Eremite, —
Companion of the Caves and black-browed Night,
We feed on Dust and drink the Cup of Tears.

Is there no bloom upon the empty earth
For us, O World — no other gift of bliss ?
Ah, if of Love there be no second birth,
And for our longing lips no lips to kiss,
Grant us this saving boon, — if nothing more, —
Dear dreams of our first Love — lost Heliodore !