MY Claudia, it is long since we have met, So kissed, so held each other heart to heart! thought to greet thee as a conqueror comes, Bearing the trophies of his prowess home. But Jove hath willed it should be otherwise — Jove, say I? Nay, some mightier, stranger god, Who thus hath laid his heavy hand on me, No victor, Claudia, but a broken man Who seeks to hide his weakness in thy love. HOW beautiful thou art! The years have brought An added splendor to thy loveliness, With passion of dark eye and lip rose-red, Struggling between its dimple and its pride. And yet there is somewhat that glooms between Thy love and mine; come, girdle me about With thy true arms, and pillow on thy breast This aching and bewildered head of mine; Here, where the fountain glitters in the sun Among the saffron lilies I will tell — If so that words will answer my desire — The shameful fate that hath befallen me.