And, sighing, cried 'Bellama! is this true?
Must I be doomèd to the barren willow?
I thought, exempted from my pedant's art,
I should no more have felt the willow's smart.
Thy eyes spake love: and every glance you sent
Writ on my heart, "Albino is approv'd";
1670Whensoe'er my eyes unto thy feature went,
And met with thine, they brought me word "You lov'd",
Then can Bellama not Bellama be?
She may Bellama be, but not to me.