Classic Poem

You have hurt beauty for her.
You have bruised the stars and broken the moon's peace.
You have given the wind a moan that will not cease.
You have made of the setting sun a wound bleeding.

You have stricken the sea with palsy—and distuned
Its rhythm to a shaken sick despair;
And gull wings are not buoyant anywhere:
For time has become insatiate passion pleading,
And space but a heavy stalking-place of care.
She cannot walk or wing or flutter free
From the thought of you.
And yesterday, not to-morrow, is her destiny.