PHANTASY
I
Within a Temple of the Toes,
Where twirled the passionate Wili,
I saw full many a market rose,
And sighed for my village lily.
II
With cynical Adrian then I took flight
To that old dead city whose carol
Bursts out like a reveller’s loud in the night,
As he sits astride his barrel.
III
We two were bound the Alps to scale,
Up the rock-reflecting river;
Old times blew thro’ me like a gale,
And kept my thoughts in a quiver.
IV
Hawking ruin, wood-slope, and vine
Reeled silver-laced under my vision,
And into me passed, with the green-eyed wine
Knocking hard at my head for admission.