Ernest Rhys (1859–1946)

THIS new Diana makes weak men her prey,

And, making captive, still would fain pursue,

And still would keep, and still would drive away,—

So day by day

Hate, hunt, do murder, and yet love them too:

Ah, dear Diana!

’Twere well, poor fools, to shun her cruel spear,

More fatal far than that which slew of old;

Her spear is wit that she so brings to bear,

Then laughs to hear

When it has struck, and one more heart runs cold:

Ah, dear Diana!

Be wise, O fools, and shun her cruel eyes,

Which when you see you straight must love, to death.

This new Diana has such sorceries,

Who loves her, dies—

And dying cries still with his latest breath—

Ah, dear Diana!