Part 2 — TO PHŒBE. [59]

“Gentle, modest little flower, Sweet epitome of May, Love me but for half an hour, Love me, love me, little fay.” Sentences so fiercely flaming In your tiny shell-like ear, I should always be exclaiming If I loved you, Phœbe dear.

“Smiles that thrill from any distance Shed upon me while I sing! Please ecstaticize existence, Love me, oh, thou fairy thing!” Words like these, outpouring sadly You’d perpetually hear, If I loved you fondly, madly;— But I do not, Phœbe dear.