Diana

This new Diana makes weak men her prey,
And, making captive, still would fain pursue,
And still would keep, and still would drive away, —
So day by day
Hate, hunt, do murder, and yet love them too:
Ah, dear Diana!

'Twere well, poor fools, to shun her cruel spear,
More fatal far than that which slew of old;
Her spear is wit that she so brings to bear,
Then laughs to hear
When it has struck, and one more heart runs cold:
Ah, dear Diana!

Be wise, O fools, and shun her cruel eyes,
Which when you see you straight must love, to death.
This new Diana has such sorceries,
Who loves her, dies —
And dying cries still with his latest breath —
Ah, dear Diana!