Of poet’s, or of sculptor’s art;

And how I feared it might depart,

That beauty which alone could shed

Light on my life—and then I said,

I would beneath its shadow dwell,

And would all lovely things compel,

All that was beautiful or fair

In art or nature, earth or air,

To be as ministers to me,

To keep me pure, to keep me free

From worldly service, from the chain

Of custom, and from earthly stain;

And how they kept me for a while,

And did my foolish heart beguile;

Yet all at last did faithless prove,

And, late or soon, betrayed my love;

How they had failed me one by one,

Till now, when youth was scarcely done,{19}

{19}

My heart, which I had thought to steep

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