A Mathilde

A cruel love, to rend the hoary veil

Of cynic, hatred of mankind, and scorn

Of all things virtuous, seeing there is born

Within me now, with strange desire gone pale,

A newer sweetness in the nightingale,

Till I see good again. Thy love has torn

Philosophy's frail texture, and outworn

The sophist's falsehood and the cynic's tale.

A cruel love - I find in Magdalene

Seven angels with the seven devils wed!

I find true love where I had thought to find

A spirit to reflect my own obscene

And dead desire that scoffed at love - instead

Love comes... we part... I perish... Fate is blind!