H Thou, who first the Apple Tree didst shake, And e'en in Eden flirted with the Snake, Still, as in that first moment 'neath the Bough, Dost thou, to-day, of Man a puppet make! |
UT this I know—whether the one True Mate, Or just some Fluffy Thing with hook and bait, Eve-like, tempt me—one flash of Common Sense, And all her sorcery shall be too late! |
HEN, let her never look for me, again; For, once escaped, how many moons shall wane, And wax and wane full oft, while still she looks Down that same street—but ah, for ME, in vain! |
ET, much as I have played the Infidel, If, as the fated Pitcher to the Well, Too oft to Love's empyrean Font I stray, To fall, at last, beneath some Siren's spell, |
HEN, in your mercy, Friend, forbear to smile, And with the grape my last few hours beguile, Or, let me in some Caravanserie, My Cynic's soul to shackles reconcile. |