Now get you quickly out of the way.
For there are many more things to do;
And all my pictures can’t image you.
II. THE PRUDENT LOVER
I dreamed a song of a wild, wild love
And purposed to follow her flying hair,
Singing my music, through vale and grove,
Till dusk met the hills—and I clasped her there.
But—mumbling ancient I have become!—
I sang two staves, and then gave o’er;