Lost Love

His eyes are quickened so with grief,     He can watch a grass or leaf     Every instant grow; he can     Clearly through a flint wall see,     Or watch the startled spirit flee     From the throat of a dead man.         Across two counties he can hear,     And catch your words before you speak.     The woodlouse or the maggot's weak     Clamour rings in his sad ear;     And noise so slight it would surpass     Credence: drinking sound of grass,     Worm-talk, clashing jaws of moth     Chumbling holes in cloth:     The groan of ants who undertake     Gigantic loads for honour's sake,     Their sinews creak, their breath comes thin:     Whir of spiders when they spin,     And minute whispering, mumbling, sighs     Of idle grubs and flies.         This man is quickened so with grief,     He wanders god-like or like thief     Inside and out, below, above,     Without relief seeking lost love.