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165 For its mad beating ! - Ay My heart has clothed itself with witty words, To shroud itself from curious eyes : - impelled At times to aim at a star, I stay my hand, And, fearing ridicule, cull a wildflower !

A wildflower's sweet.

Ay ! but to-night - the star !

Oh ! never have you spoken thus before !

If, leaving Cupid's arrows, quivers, torches, We turned to seek for sweeter -fresher things ! Instead of sipping in a pigmy glass Dull fashionable waters, - did we try How the soul slakes its thirst in fearless draught By drinking from the river's flooding brim !

But wit ? ...

If I have used it to arrest you At the first starting, - now, 'twould be an outrage, An insult - to the perfumed Night - to Nature - To speak fine words that garnish vain love-letters! Look up but at her stars ! The quiet Heaven Will ease our hearts of all things artificial ; I fear lest, 'midst the alchemy we're skilled in The truth of sentiment dissolve and vanish,