Whelm him—make the one the wealthy!
Am I all so poor who—stealthy
Work it was!—picked up what fell:
Not the worst bud—who can tell?
POETICS
"So say the foolish!" Say the foolish so, Love?
"Flower she is, my rose"—or else, "My very swan is she"—
Or perhaps, "Yon maid-moon, blessing earth below, Love,
That art thou!"—to them, belike: no such vain words from me.
"Hush, rose, blush! no balm like breath," I chide it: