I listen to the w—nds at night,
They speak of th— in whispers fine;
In D—n's or Au—ra's light,
I see no beauty, none but th—!
All l—ve save mine's an idle tale
Of Hy—n's torch and C—d's bow;
I envy Cl—p—ra's wail,
Or S—pho leaping, wild, below.
For V—ry's pâté holds for me—
Or G—nt—r's soup—no poison rare;