Ah! red-leafed time hath driven out the rose And crimson dew is fallen on the leaf Ere ever yet the cold white wheat be sown That hideth all earth's green and sere and red; The Moon-flower's fallen and the branch is bare, Holding no honey for the starry bees; The Maiden turns to her dark lord's demesne. Fairer than Enna's field when Ceres sows The stars of hyacinth and puts off grief, Fairer than petals on May morning blown Through apple-orchards where the sun hath shed His brighter petals down to make them fair; Fairer than these the Poppy-crowned One flees, And Joy goes weeping in her scarlet train. The faint damp wind that, ere the even, blows Piling the west with many a tawny sheaf, Then when the last glad wavering hours are mown Sigheth and dies because the day is sped; This wind is like her and the listless air Wherewith she goeth by beneath the trees, The trees that mock her with their scarlet stain. Love that is born of Time and comes and goes! Love that doth hold all noble hearts in fief! As red leaves follow where the wind hath flown, So all men follow Love when Love is dead. O Fate of Wind! O Wind that cannot spare, But drivest out the Maid, and pourest lees Of all thy crimson on the wold again, Korè my heart is, let it stand sans gloze! Love's pain is long, and lo, love's joy is brief! My heart erst alway sweet is bitter grown; As crimson ruleth in the good green's stead, So grief hath taken all mine old joy's share And driven forth my solace and all ease Where pleasure bows to all-usurping pain.