O, STRUCK beneath the laurel, where the singing fountains are,
I saw from heaven falling the star of love afar;
O, slain in Eden’s bower nigh the bourn where lovers rest,
I fell upon the arrow that was buried in my breast;
Farewell the noble labor, farewell the silent pain,
Farewell the perfect honor of the long years lived in vain;
I lie upon the moorland where the wood and pasture meet,
And the cords that no man breaketh are bound about my feet.