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Art.
But in vain, in vain, would I make it fast
With countless subtle twines;
For ever its fire breaks out at last,
And shrivels all the lines.
II.
That can fly over land and sea;
And a message for your Love,
"Lady, I love but thee!"
And this dove will never stir
But straight from her to you,
And straight from you to her;
As you know and she knows too.
Will you first ensure, O sage,
Your dove that never tires
With your message in a cage,
Though a cage of golden wires?
Or will you fling your dove:
"Fly, darling, without rest,
Over land and sea to my Love,
And fold your wings in her breast"?
