But is he happy? That I have not heard—
Look in his eyes and then—then—send me word!
VIII
Theocritus who sang in Sicily,
By Ætna where are shepherds’ pipes a-ring,
Made thus unto the night a maiden sing:
“Moon-Wheel, the one I love draw unto me.”
O! would that I could pray thus, Moon, to thee,
And be as sure as she some peace to bring,
Simætha, ’neath the laurels silvering,