First Love

Though nurtured like the sailing moon

In beauty‘s murderous brood，

She walked awhile and blushed awhile

And on my pathway stood

Until I thought her body bore

A heart of flesh and blood.

But since I laid a hand thereon

And found a heart of stone

I have attempted many things

And not a thing is done，

For every hand is lunatic

That travels on the moon.

She smiled and that transfigured me

And left me but a lout，

Maundering here， and maundering there，

Emptier of thought

Than the heavenly circuit of its stars

When the moon sails out.