XIV.
Ah no, my Lady! though I sang to thee
With fuller voice than sings the nightingale—
Fuller and softer in the moonlight pale
Than lays of Keats, or Shelley, or the free
And fire-lipp'd Byron—there would come to me
No word of thine to thank me for the tale.
XV.
Thou would'st not heed. Thou would'st not any-when,