To Phœbe
“GENTLE, modest little flower,Sweet epitome of May,Love me but for half an hour,Love me, love me, little fay.”Sentences so fiercely flamingIn your tiny shell-like ear,I should always be exclaimingIf I loved you, PHŒBE dear.
“Smiles that thrill from any distanceShed upon me while I sing!Please ecstaticize existence,Love me, oh, thou fairy thing!”Words like these, outpouring sadlyYou’d perpetually hear,If I loved you fondly, madly;—But I do not, PHŒBE dear.