Desolate Love

I saw Love sitting by a dry well-head;
No crown was on his hair, and in his hand
He had no sceptre, but a warrior's brand;
With blood his hands and feet and robes were red,
And ever as he bowed his face he shed
Most bitter tears, and cried, " Where is my land;
And all my subjects that might not withstand
My perfect will and the sweet words I said?

"Lo! men have turned from me in these dark days,
The temples that I reared they have cast down."
Then close by his shone out my lady's face;
I saw her bow, and knew she spoke with him;
And when he raised his eyes they were not dim,
And on his hair was glory of a crown.