On the Drowning of Two Pupils
Beauty in books to boys who lean
Idling on the sill of spring,
Beauty to lads of seventeen
In psalm and song I tried to bring.
But if one hoped to draw—I found—
The tear of beauty to the eye,
Innocent Hylas must be drowned
And every Juliet must die.
I might despair of ever joy
Being attuned to beauty’s speech,
Did Death not sometimes take a boy
And tutor strains I could not teach.
