"Smiling, she flouts Demosthenes"
[LEAVEN]
Others furnish bread and meat,
Busy hucksters on the street,
They will give you what you need,
All the facts your life to feed.
Mine are not these wares of earth,
I can give my love but mirth;
Let, oh let this part be mine,
I would be your salt and wine.
[QUAERITUR]
What if to-day, when I have made so sure
That love is utterly and wholly mine,
What if I found that faith should not endure
And all my trust in you I should resign;
That when I send my thoughts like homing birds
To your dear heart they find no resting place,
But all misunderstood, far, foreign words,
They die away like strangers at your face.