My only being! Dearest heart! Sweet child!
How kindly thou my yearning then didst still
With gentle words, enthralling me to thee.
In truth methought I read thy whispers mild
Wherewith thou lovingly my soul didst fill,
E'en to myself for aye ennobling me.
NEMESIS.
When through the nations stalks contagion wild,
We from them cautiously should steal away,
E'en I have oft with ling'ring and delay
Shunned many an influence, not to be defiled.
And e'en though Amor oft my hours beguiled,
At length with him preferred I not to play,
And so, too, with the wretched sons of clay,
When four and three-lined verses they compiled.
But punishment pursues the scoffer straight,
As if by serpent-torch of furies led
From hill to vale, from land to sea to fly.
I hear the genie's laughter at my fate;
Yet do I find all power of thinking fled
In sonnet-rage and love's fierce ecstasy.
THE CHRISTMAS-BOX.
This box, mine own sweet darling, thou wilt find
With many a varied sweetmeat's form supplied;
The fruits are they of holy Christmas-tide,
But baked, indeed, for children's use designed.
