University of Virginia Library

Ah! let me turn the page, nor chronicle
In many words the death of faith, nor tell
Of meetings by the newly-risen moon,
Of passionate silence 'midst the brown birds' tune,
Of wild tears wept within the noontide shade,
Of wild vows spoken that of old were made
For other ears, when, amidst other flowers,

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He wandered through the love-begetting hours.
Suffice it that unhappy was each day
Which without speech from Glauce passed away,
And troublous dreams would visit him at night,
When day had passed all barren of her sight.
And at the last, that Creon, the old king,
Being prayed with gifts, and joyful of the thing,
Had given a day when these twain should be wed.