And dropped her eyes on me, and let them melt.
‘Is this,’ she said, ‘the Muse?’
‘No sibyl even,’
I answered,‘since she fails to guess the cause
Which taxed you with this visit, madam.’
‘Good,’
She said, ‘I like to be sincere at once;
Perhaps, if I had found a literal Muse,
The visit might have taxed me. As it is,
You wear your blue so chiefly in your eyes,
My fair Aurora, in a frank good way,
It comforts me entirely for your fame,
As well as for the trouble of my ascent
To this Olympus.’
There, a silver laugh
Ran rippling through her quickened little breaths
The steep stair somewhat justified.
‘But still
Your ladyship has left me curious why
You dared the risk of finding the said Muse?’
‘Ah,—keep me, notwithstanding, to the point
Like any pedant. Is the blue in eyes
As awful as in stockings, after all,
I wonder, that you’d have my business out
Before I breathe—exact the epic plunge
In spite of gasps? Well, naturally you think
I’ve come here, as the lion-hunters go
To deserts, to secure you, with a trap
