What voice, O vengeful Anteros,
Has called thee from the seedless weald ?—
Dark sower of the tares of loss
Amid the foison of love's field!
What mouth, O mournful Anteros,
Must eat the grain the seasons yield?
Thy touch, O mortal Anteros,
Has turned the sapphic laurel sere,
Thy wings have cast their night across
The dial of our Saturnian year,
The cypress, O sad Anteros,
Grew darker when thou drewest near. . . .
O lover, thy black prayer unsay,
Who called on baleful Anteros!
Crown thee with nettles, kneel, and lay
Thy brows upon love's altar close,
To the departing Eros pray
Against the wrath of Anteros.