The Spirit Wooed

 Once I believed in you,
 And then you came,
 Unquestionably new, as fame
Had said you were.
 But that was long ago.


You launched no argument,
 Yet I obeyed,
 Straightaway, the instrument you played
Distant Down sidestreets, keeping different time,

And never questioned what
 You fascinate
 In me; if good or not, the state
You pressed towards.
 There was no need to know.


Grave pristine absolutes
 Walked in my mind:
 So that I was not mute, or blind,
As years before or since.
 My only crime

Was holding you too dear.

 Was that the cause
 You daily came less near—a pause
Longer than life, if you decide it so?

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