Alciphron. To you may none of them repeat
The play that you have play'd with me,
The song that made your bosom beat.
Leucippe. Don't keep your arm about my waist.
Alciphron. Might you not stumble?
Leucippe. Well then, do.
But why are we in all this haste?
Alciphron. To sing.
Leucippe. Alas! and not play too?
Walter Savage Landor. 1775-1864
573. Years
YEARS, many parti-colour'd years,
Some have crept on, and some have flown
Since first before me fell those tears
I never could see fall alone.
Years, not so many, are to come,
Years not so varied, when from you
One more will fall: when, carried home,
I see it not, nor hear Adieu.