University of Virginia Library

SONNETS.

EUTERPE.

Now if Euterpe held me not in scorn,
I'd shape a lyric, perfect, fair, and round
As that thin band of gold wherewith I bound
Your slender finger our betrothal morn.
Not of Desire alone is music born,
Not till the Muse wills is our passion crowned:
Unsought she comes, if sought but seldom found.
Hence is it Poets often are forlorn,
Taciturn, shy, self-immolated, pale,
Taking no healthy pleasure in their kind,—
Wrapt in their dream as in a coat-of-mail.
Hence is it I, the least, a very hind,
Have stolen away into this leafy vale
Drawn by the flutings of the silvery wind.

THE AMULET.

Though thou wert cunninger than Vivien,—
Faithful as Enid,—fair as Guinevere,—
Pure as Elaine,—I should not hold thee dear.
Count me not cold, decorous, unlike men!
Indeed the time was, and not long since, when—
But 't is not now. An amulet I 've here
Saves me. A ring. Observe: within this sphere
Of chiselled gold a jewel is set. What then?
Why, this,—the stone and setting cannot part,
Unless one 's broken. See with what a grace
The diamond dewdrop sinks into the white
Tulip-shaped calyx, and o'erfloods it quite!
There is a Lady set so in my heart
There 's not for any other any place.