The Spirit Wooed

Once I believed in you, And then you came, Unquestionably new, as fame Had said you were. But that was long ago. You launched no argument, Yet I obeyed, Straightaway, the instrument you played Distant Down sidestreets, keeping different time, And never questioned what You fascinate In me; if good or not, the state You pressed towards. There was no need to know. Grave pristine absolutes Walked in my mind: So that I was not mute, or blind, As years before or since. My only crime Was holding you too dear. Was that the cause You daily came less near—a pause Longer than life, if you decide it so?