Dark to me is the earth. Dark to me are the heavens. Where is she that I loved, the woman with eyes like stars? Desolate are the streets. Desolate is… - Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

I knew the Spring was come. I knew it even
Better than all by this, that through my chase
In bush and stone and hill and sea and heaven
I seem'd to see and follow still your face.
Your face my quarry was. For it I rode,
My horse a thing of wings, myself a god.

Therefore the earth is dark to me, the sunlight blackness, Therefore I go in tears and alone, by night and day;
Therefore I find no love in heaven, no light, no beauty,
A heaven taken by storm, where none are left but the slain!

Life is a play acted by dying men, Where, if its heroes seem to foot it well And go light-tongued without grimace of pain, Death will be found anon. And who shall tell Which part was saddest, or in youth or age, When the tired actor stops and leaves the stage?