At those ladies fair and fell
Who lived smiling, without loving, in their island citadel.
Thus I thought of the old singers,
And took courage from their song,
Till my little struggling fingers
Tore asunder gyve and thong
Of the lichens which entrapped me, and the barrier branches strong.
On a day, such pastime keeping,
With a fawn’s heart debonnaire,
Under-crawling, over-leaping