Page:Poems and lyrics of the joy of earth.djvu/161

Rh Lady, the destiny of minor powers, Who would recast us, is but to convulse: You enter on a strife that frets and sours; You can but win sick disappointment's hue; And simply an accelerated pulse,
 * Some tonic you have drunk moves you.

Thinks your friend so? Good sir, your wit is bright But wit that strives to speak the popular voice, Puts on its nightcap and puts out its light; Curfew, would seem your conqueror's decree To women likewise: and we have no choice
 * Save darkness or rebellion, we!