Page:Modern poets and poetry of Spain.djvu/78

32 In the embraces, which my thought,

Not even in its boldest vein,

Could scarce to hope for have been brought,

Presumptuous to attain.

Enarda! young and old

All quarrel with me daily:

Because I write to thee they scold,

Perhaps sweet verses gaily.

"A judge should be more grave," they say,

As each my song accuses;

"From such pursuits should turn away

As trifling with the Muses."

"How wofully you waste your time!"

Preach others; but, all slighting,

The more they scold, the more I rhyme;

Still I must keep on writing.

Enarda's heart and mind to praise,

All others far excelling,

My rustic pipe its note shall raise,

In well-toned measures telling.