Sways to his straining lips. Yet he,
Though with impatient longing filled,
As often mocked, so often fails
To grasp the prize; he turns away160
His longing gaze, strains close his lips,
And grimly bars his hunger fast
Behind his teeth. But still again
The whole grove lets its riches down,
And flaunts them in his face, soft fruits
On drooping boughs, and whets once more