 | The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton |  |
TO AN ENGLISH LADY,
WHO HAD SUNG A ROMAN BALLAD.
Blame not my vacant looks; it is not true,That my discourteous thoughts did vainly stray
Out of the presence of your gentle lay,
While other eager listeners nearer drew,
Though sooth I hardly heard a note; for you,
Most cunning songstress, did my soul convey
Over the fields of space, far, far away,
To the dear garden-land, where long it grew.
Thus, all that time, beneath the ilex roof
Of an old Alban hill, I lay aloof,
With the cicala faintly clittering near,
Till, as your song expired, the clouds that pass
Athwart the Roman plain, as o'er a glass,
Thickened, and bade the vision disappear.
| The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton | |