Of late, a sadness often strays
Here, in my mind: and what besides?
Within your hair, your face abides,
As summer, through the summer days.

Here do all times, once glad, arise,
Which now have lost their pleasantness:
Here dwell the voices of your dress;
Your fragrant ways, your lifted eyes.

Here are all words, you've said; whereof
Hope never made a tale more dear;
All, that in Danaë showed, is here;
But where is Love?