Who dreamed that love was a mutual thing?
To these green eyes, with all confidence,
All, as in the tree’s shade-giving sense,
A wasp could not deliver its sting,
Nor the field its fence.
The lonely world is pacing by:
Among infinites, that clear-eyed clan
Concludes where the lover began:
The talk heard in narrow rooms nearby
Are but echoes of a man.
Who dreamed that love was other
Than fields of vision, false in such halls
Where facing mirrors line the walls,
Or a blue-eyed soul heeding another
Fair-eyed creature’s calls?