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1
PROËM TO POEMS COLLECTED IN MSS. AN. ÆT. 18 AND 19.
‘Neque chorda sonum reddit quem vult manus et mens.’
3
Flown hitherward from some untrodden dell
In the soul's mid forest, scarce accessible!
Lured by the lustre of your sheeny wings,
Perforce I chase you, and with patient care
Outspread in vain — in vain too oft, the snare;
Or take at last but bruised and faded things.
Yes, wayward Speech, thou dost still falsify
Mine inmost thoughts and dearest; and still I
Mourn over all thy maimed interpretings—
For all the subtler senses 'scaped like birds
From the coarse meshes of these woven words—
For the poor half-truth left, so like a lie!
An. æt. 19.
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