What dost thou here, in Love's enchanted wood
Pierrot, who once wert safe as clown and thief
Held safe by love of fun and wine and food
From her who follows love of woman, Grief
Her who, of old, stalked over Eden-grass
Behind Love's baby-feet whose shadow threw
On every brook, as on a magic glass
Prophetic shapes of what should come to pass
When tears got mixt with Paradisal dew?