If these brief lays, of Sorrow born,
      Were taken to be such as closed
      Grave doubts and answers here proposed,
Then these were such as men might scorn:

Her care is not to part and prove;
      She takes, when harsher moods remit,
      What slender shade of doubt may flit,
And makes it vassal unto love:

And hence, indeed, she sports with words,
      But better serves a wholesome law,
      And holds it sin and shame to draw
The deepest measure from the chords:

Nor dare she trust a larger lay,
      But rather loosens from the lip
      Short swallow-flights of song, that dip
Their wings in tears, and skim away.


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Last modified 16 February 2010