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Clustering forelocks grace his head ;
will find some luckless day, When Love is hurt, and turns his face away.
Love displays with tints of fire
his tongue ;
But when his suit has fairly sped,
Now to requite these plain foreshowings
you then my
A thousand loop-holes-out he flies.
Love then sojourns not here? I find him not;
AN INCIDENT IN A SCULPTURE
As of sculpture musingly I wandered,
a Of sculpture musingly I wandered, Where shapes of Grecian mould, and all
Sweet lines of gracefulness I pondered ;
Flitting through window or through door,
A butterfly on pinions airy
Like visitor from realms of fairy.
And who a feeling might repress
Of wonder new and strange at seeing 'Mongst things so still and colourless
That animated gorgeous being ?
Nay, more; with instinct free from doubt,
And unfeigned love, already plighted, Her other self she singled out,
And upon Psyche's statue lighted.
Let those, who will, contract their brows,
And put their own interpretation, With barren saws of whys and hows,
On that poetic visitation.
'Twere best with self-collected mind
To banish every crude conjecture, And take the moral that we find,
Though but an insect read the lecture.
Mark thou the symbols and the grades
By which soul-elevating Nature The coldness of these times upbraids
In many an allegoric feature.
And in old age, and pride of youth,
Do thou rejoice, whilst yet thou'rt able, To water in the soil of Truth
The vine of world-encircling Fable.