Electric Sprite.
Old boy, let me in! Come, now, don't you be stupid!
Why stand at your door in that dubious way?
Like the classical girl who was called on by Cupid,
You seem half alarmed at the thought of my stay.
With meanings of mischief my mind is not laden;
Be sure, my dear friend, that I shall not sell you,
As the artful young archer-god did the poor maiden,
Who let him in only his visit to rue.
I hope you've not listened to enemies' strictures,