Both together:—let me slake
All my thirst and sweet heart-ache!
Let my bower be of yew,
Interwreath'd with myrtles new
Pines and lime-trees full in bloom,
And my couch a low grass-tomb.
TO ———
What can I do to drive away
Remembrance from my eyes? for they have seen
Ay, an hour ago, my brilliant Queen!
Touch has a memory. O say, love, say,
What can I do to kill it and be free
In my own liberty?
When every fair one that I saw was fair,
Enough to catch me in but half a snare,
Not keep me there:
When, howe'er poor or particolor'd things,
My muse had wings,
And ever ready was to take her course
Whither I bent her force,
Unintellectual, yet divine to me;—
Divine, I say!—What sea-bird o'er the sea
Is a philosopher the while he goes
Winging along where the great water throes?
How shall I do
To get anew
Those moulted feathers, and so mount once more
Above, above
The reach of fluttering Love,
