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Then I remember'd one myself had made
• O Swallow, Swallow, flying, flying South, Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves,
And tell her, tell her what I tell to thee.
O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each,
That bright and fierce and fickle is the South,
And dark and true and tender is the North.
* 0 Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, and light Upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill, And cheep and twitter twenty million loves.
• O were I thou that she might take me in,
And lay me on her bosom, and her heart
• Why lingereth she to clothe her heart with love, Delaying as the tender ash delays To clothe herself, when all the woods are green ?
• O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown : Say to her, I do but wanton in the South But in the North long since my nest is made.
• O tell her, brief is life but love is long,
And brief the sun of summer in the North,
And brief the moon of beauty in the South.
0 Swallow, flying from the golden woods, Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine, And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.'
I ceased and all the ladies, each at each,
Like the Ithacensian suitors in old time,
Stared with great eyes, and laugh'd with alien lips,
voice Rang false : but smiling • Not for thee,' she said,
O Bulbul, any rose of Gulistan
Shall burst her veil : marsh-divers, rather, maid,
Shall croak thee sister, or the meadow-crake
Grate her harsh kindred in the grass : and this
A mere love-poem! O for such, my friend,
When we made bricks in Egypt. Knaves are men,
That lute and flute fantastic tenderness,
And dress the victim to the offering up,
And paint the gates of Hell with Paradise,
And play the slave to gain the tyranny.
Poor soul! I had a maid of honour once ;
She wept her true eyes blind for such a one,
A rogue of canzonets and serenades.
I loved her. Peace be with her ! she is dead.
So they blaspheme the muse! but great is song
Used to great ends : ourself have often tried
Valkyrian hymns, or into rhythm have dash'd
The passion of the prophetess ; for song
Of spirit than to junketing and love.
Love is it?
Would this same mock-love, and this
Mock-Hymen were laid up like winter bats,
She spoke and turn'd her sumptuous head with eyes
To troll a careless, careless tavern-catch
Of Moll and Meg, and strange experiences
Unmeet for ladies. Florian nodded at him,
I frowning ; Psyche flush'd and wann'd and shook
The lilylike Melissa droop'd her brows ;
And heated thro' and thro' with wrath and love,
I smote him on the breast; he started up;
There rose a shriek as of a city sack'd ;
Said Ida ; home! to horse !' and fled, as flies
snowy doves athwart the dusk,
When some one batters at the dovecote-doors,
Disorderly the women.
Alone I stood
With Florian, cursing Cyril, vext at heart,
every hoof a knell.to my desires, Clang'd on the bridge ; and then another shriek, • The Head, the Head, the Princess, O the Head !'
For blind with rage she miss'd the plank, and rollid In the river. Out I sprang from glow to gloom :
There whirl'd her white robe like a blossom’d branch
Rapt to the horrible fall : a glance I gave,