Bird and Brook
My song, that's bird-like in its kind,
Is in the mind,
Love — in the mind;
And in my season I am moved
No more or less from being loved;
No woman's love has power to bring
My song back when I cease to sing;
Nor can she, when my season's strong,
Prevent my mind from song.
But where I feel your woman's part,
Is in the heart,
Love — in the heart;
For when that bird of mine broods long,
And I'd be sad without my song,
Your love then makes my heart a brook
That dreams in many a quiet nook,
And makes a steady, murmuring sound
Of joy the whole year round.
Passion's Hounds
With mighty leaps and bounds,
I followed Passion's hounds,
My hot blood had its day;
Lust, Gluttony, and Drink,
I chased to Hell's black brink,
Both night and day.
I ate like three strong men,
I drank enough for ten,
Each hour must have its glass
Yes, Drink and Gluttony
Have starved more brains, say I,
Than Hunger has.
And now, when I grow old,
And my slow blood is cold,
And feeble is my breath —
I'm followed by those hounds,
Whose mighty leaps and bounds
Hunt me to death.