 | Laurella and other poems |  |
231
MERLIN IN THE TOILS.
The silver-sounding trumpets of my heartMade glad acclaim when thou didst enter there,
Like an expected Queen. No holiest part
Of my most hidden life, but thou didst share—
Nay, it was twice thine own. Thou, as the air
Unto my blood, wast vital to my art;
Till, traitress, thou didst trade in Folly's mart
To sell me for a gaud, clipping the hair
Of my ambition's might! Thou hast thy will:
My gods abandon me, and thine idols stand
In my soul's sanctuary, defiled and cold.
Yet what is left me but to love thee still,
Though thou hast made Love wingless, and my hand
A bloodless tool, and I in bonds grow old?
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