Your cool clear brain must needs yield verse-water,
But, sweet strong drunken maniac music, mine.
S. K. Cowan.
From A Book of Jousts. London, Field and Tuer.
A Valentine.
Ah, Love! if love lie still betwixt us twain,
Through all these years—yea, love, before love wane
Lift up thine eyes and slay me; the desire
Of death consumes me, like the sun-god’s fire.