Page:Poems, Volume 1, Coates, 1916.djvu/162



OVE is passing through the street.

Love, imperishably sweet,

On his silver-sandaled feet

Draweth near.

Suppliant he came of yore,—

Comes he now as conqueror?

Will he, pausing at my door,

Enter here?

Once his lips were ruby-red,

And his wings like gold, outspread,

And the roses crowned his head,

As in story;

And though these he now disguise,

Ever a lost paradise

In the azure of his eyes

Keeps its glory.