Page:An epic of women and other poems (IA epicofwomenother00osha).pdf/225



"How shall I rid myself from thee, Apollo? Give me leave to be No more than flower, or wind, or thought,  —Only a fragrant memory, nought, Or anything that's free:

"Give me—O pitying—some power To cease; make me a gentle shower; A hidden fount that murmureth In some sweet glimmer all apart  From sounds of living: give me death! Or loose me for your love of me; My bosom faileth and my heart No more a prisoner will be —Will be free!