Narrow paths my passions tread:
Laughter rings there, sorrow cries;
Sick and sad, with half-shut eyes,
Thro' the leaves the woods have shed,
My sins like yellow mongrels slink;
Uncouth hyenas, my hates complain,
And on the pale and listless plain
Couching low, love's lion's blink.
Powerless, deep in a dream of peace,
Sunk in a languid spell they lie,
Under a colourless, desolate sky,
There they gaze and never cease,
Where like sheep temptations graze,
One by one departing slow:
In the moon's unchanging glow
My unchanging passions gaze.