Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/716

 WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR

581 On Catullus

TELL me not what too well I know About the bard of Sirmio. Yes, in Thalia's son Such stains there are as when a Grace Sprinkles another's laughing face With nectar, and runs on.

582 The Dragon-fly

(priest and poet say) is but a dream ; I wish no happier one than to be laid Beneath a cool syringa's scented bhade,

Or wavy willow, by the running stream,

Brimful of moral, where the dragon-fly, Wanders as careless and content as I.

Thanks for this fancy, insect king,

Of purple crest and filmy wing,

Who with indifference givest up

The water-lily's golden cup,

To come again and overlook

What I am writing in my book.

Believe me, most who read the line

Will read with hornier eyes than thine;

And yet their souls shall live for ever,

And thine drop dead into the river'

God pardon them, O insect king,

Who fancy so unjust a thing'

583 Years

r EARS, many parti-colour'd years, Some have crept on, and some have flown Since first before me fell those tears

I never could see fall alone.

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