The Sisters' Tragedy [12]
hair?-- They were you, dear, only you. If I speak of night or day, Grace of fern or bloom of grape, Hanging cloud or fountain spray, Gem or star or glistening dew, Or of mythologic shape, Psyche, Pyrrha, Daphne, say-- I mean you, dear, you, just you.
A PETITION
To spring belongs the violet, and the blown Spice of the roses let the summer own. Grant me this favor, Muse--all else withhold-- That I may not write verse when I am old.
And yet I pray you, Muse, delay the time! Be not too ready to deny me rhyme; And when the hour strikes, as it must, dear Muse, I beg you very gently break the news.
End
A PETITION
To spring belongs the violet, and the blown Spice of the roses let the summer own. Grant me this favor, Muse--all else withhold-- That I may not write verse when I am old.
And yet I pray you, Muse, delay the time! Be not too ready to deny me rhyme; And when the hour strikes, as it must, dear Muse, I beg you very gently break the news.
End