Ah how my heart would joy again to be
Like chirming bird that cleaves the sunny air,
Like wildwood roe that bounds in ecstasy;
O goddess sweet, give ear unto my prayer!
That I am innocent hast thou no care
Of crime against celestial deity?
Must I the fate of lovely Lotis share?—
Come with thy doves across the briny sea!
I hear no waters' silvern melody,
And yet the rippling water once was there,
And on its bloomy banks I worshipped thee;—
Leave thy tall fanes and thy rose gardens rare!
Could I but feel my boy's hands on my hair,
Could I but kiss my sister Iole,
Then bravely would I cast forth chill despair,
From cruel bondage set thy vot'ress free!
I, who was once the blithesome Dryope,
Am now a tree bole, cold and brown and bare;
Pity, I pray, my ceaseless agony,
Or grant forgetfulness of all things fair,
O goddess sweet.
Clinton Scollard.
RONDEAU REDOUBLÉ.
I will go hence, and seek her, my old Love;
All bramble-laced, and moss-grown is the way,
There is no sun, nor broad, red moon above,
The year is old, he said, and skies are grey.
The rose-wreaths fade, the viols are not gay,
That which seemed sweet doth passing bitter prove;
So sweet she was, she will not say me nay—
I will go hence and seek her, my old Love.