And those you give me back again,
Repeated oft, and never done;
Not thus, I fancy, could it be
Platonic brides were ever won.
Philosophy, perhaps, had charms
To satisfy great Athens’ sage,
Indifferent to his lady’s arms,—
Two heads bent o’er one musty page.
But moderns, made of sterner stuff,
Would clothe it with a gentler light,