Chapter I

“Whom the Gods love die young”? Nay, rather say
With bated breath, “Whom the Gods love die old!”
Shall the morn pale ere it hath coined its gold?
The sun go down while yet it is full day?
The statue sleep unmoulded in the clay?
The parchment crumble ere it is unrolled?
The story end with half the tale untold?
The song drop mute and breathless by the way?
Oh, weep for Adonais when he dies
With all youth’s lofty promise unfulfilled,
Its splendor lost in sudden drear eclipse!
With love unlived and dreams half dreamed he lies,
All the red wine from life’s gold chalice spilled
Ere its bright brim hath touched his eager lips!