I weave but trellis-work, pursuant
—Life, to law.
The solid, not the fragile,
Tempts rain and hail and thunder.
If bower stand firm at Autumn's close,
Beyond my hope,—why, boughs were agile;
If bower fall flat, we scarce need wonder
Wreathing—rose!
So, truce to the protesting,
So, muffled be the kisses!