The Burden Of Desire

I.     In some glad way I know thereof:     A garden glows down in my heart,     Wherein I meet and often part     With many an ancient tale of love     A Romeo garden, banked with bloom,     And trellised with the eglantine;     In which a rose climbs to a room,     A balcony one mass of vine,     Dim, haunted of perfume     A balcony, whereon she gleams,     The soft Desire of all Dreams,     And smiles and bends like Juliet,     Year after year.     While to her side, all dewy wet,     A rose stuck in his ear,     Love climbs to draw her near. II.     And in another way I know:     Down in my soul a graveyard lies,     Wherein I meet, in ghostly wise,     With many an ancient tale of woe     A graveyard of the Capulets,     Deep-vaulted with ancestral gloom,     Through whose dark yews the moonlight jets     On many a wildly caryen tomb,     That mossy mildew frets     A graveyard where the Soul's Desire     Sleeps, pale-entombed; and, kneeling by her,     Love, like that hapless Montague,     Year after year,     Weary and worn and wild of hue,     Within her sepulchre,     Falls bleeding on her bier.