[The fate of this poor Dove, as described, was told to me at Brinsop Court, by the young lady to whom I have given the name of Lesbia.—I.F.]
[Miss not the occasion: by the forelock take
That subtle Power, the never-halting Time,
Lest a mere moment’s putting-off should make
Mischance almost as heavy as a crime.]
One of the “Miscellaneous Sonnets.”—Ed.
“Wait, prithee, wait!” this answer Lesbia[51] threw
Forth to her Dove, and took no further heed.
Her eye was busy, while her fingers flew
Across the harp, with soul-engrossing speed;