Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/185

 HAVE no master," said the Blind Boy,
 * "My mother, 'Dame Venus' they do call;

Cowled in this hood she sent me begging
 * For whate'er in pity may befall.

"Hard was her visage, me adjuring, —
 * 'Have no fond mercy on the kind!

Here be sharp arrows, bunched in quiver,
 * Draw close ere striking — thou art blind.'

"So stand I here, my woes entreating,
 * In this dark alley, lest the Moon

Point with her sparkling my barbed armoury
 * Shine on my silver-lacèd shoon.

"Oh, sir, unkind this Dame to me-ward;
 * Of the salt billow was her birth. . ..

In your sweet charity draw nearer
 * The saddest rogue on Earth!"