Grand Larceny

What have you done to me, You, of the Helen-touch? You with the noon-bright hair And the voice like streams? Day has become a cloud! Season and order such Shapes as a wizard air Weaves out of dreams!

I was glad ere you came; Now I have great unease. You who have stol’n my soul As you’d pluck a leaf! Starved and wind-bitten oak, Yours the Hesperides! —Satan consume you whole, Beautiful Thief!

Where have you locked it up? Drowned it in colored pools With your moods’ goldfish or Swathed it in words? It should go raggedly, Hard from the scorn of fools! Whippings may hurt it sore! Where are its birds?

What—you will give it back? Flowery your footpath then! Songs of your grace I’ll sing Sleepier than bees! Hasten, oh wind-beloved! Grant me my own again! —What is this shining thing, Under the trees?—

Tremulous, lucentine, Sun-wave or heart of star— What is this magic you Proffer for mine? —Closer the wonder draws— (Those are your eyes!) But are All paradises true Then, oh Divine...?

You should have taken gold For your soul’s treasury! Not this poor kettle, Clay to all spears. Isn’t gold heavy, though!— We shall rust airily! Heavenly metal! Years upon years!