 | The Solitary, and other poems |  |
But Kirke comes not alone; he brings
A wayward thing, who mows and sings,
Peers through her fingers, and is pleas'd,
Then pouts, and will not be appeas'd.
Jasper beholds and swoons—I wis,
His dream was not more dread than this.
A wayward thing, who mows and sings,
Peers through her fingers, and is pleas'd,
Then pouts, and will not be appeas'd.
Jasper beholds and swoons—I wis,
His dream was not more dread than this.
| The Solitary, and other poems | |