IDYL XXIX. THE CAPRICIOUS FAIR. THEY say, my dear, that wine and truth agree: Like that of gods, or glooms in thickest night. How is it right to vex one loves you so? In one tree build one nest; so shall not creep Y See how you change about for ever now, And if one chance to praise your lovely face, To him that loved you first you are as cold, Younger than now: we grow old while we speak. We, slow-foot mortals, cannot overtake Birds, or what else a winged passage make. Take thought, and be more mild: to me, who burn In love for you, a guileless love return, That when your bloom of youthful beauty ends, We may be time-enduring faithful friends. But if you cast my words unto the wind, Or piqued to anger murmur in your mind, Then freed from love, and all its anxious pain, E'en at thy call, I could not come again. IDYL XXX. THE DEATH OF ADONIS. CYPRIS, when she saw Adonis And they, swiftly overflying All the wood where he was lying, Struck behind and made him go. |