 | Collected poems |  |
480
“EXTREMUM TANAIN”
(TO J. K.)
Before thy doors too long of late,
O Lyce, I bewail my fate;
Not Don's barbarian maids, I trow,
Would treat their luckless lovers so;
Thou,—thou alone art obstinate.
O Lyce, I bewail my fate;
Not Don's barbarian maids, I trow,
Would treat their luckless lovers so;
Thou,—thou alone art obstinate.
Hast thou nor eyes nor ears, Ingrate!
Hark! how the North Wind shakes thy gate!
Look! how the laurels bend with snow
Before thy doors!
Hark! how the North Wind shakes thy gate!
Look! how the laurels bend with snow
Before thy doors!
Lay by thy pride,—nor hesitate,
Lest Love and I grow desperate;
If prayers, if gifts for naught must go,
If naught my frozen pallor show,—
Beware! . . . . I shall not always wait
Before thy doors!
Lest Love and I grow desperate;
If prayers, if gifts for naught must go,
If naught my frozen pallor show,—
Beware! . . . . I shall not always wait
Before thy doors!
| Collected poems | |