Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/173



beneath the willow tree, When shrouded came a nymph to me And slid her hand in mine. Her boldness I did much upbraid, And said: “Begone, thou wanton maid; I seek no love of thine!

“Nor do I hope to wake again My heart all stricken with disdain. And drive it forth to woo. No! no! Forlorn I sit and sigh, And call on Death to let me die. Since Phyllis is untrue.”

“Ah!” cried the maid, “why therefore chide, Since I indeed am fitting bride For one so pale and wan?” She held me in a close embrace, Nor could I see her hidden face, And still I cried: “Begone!”

“If thou art Love, thy labour's vain; I hold thy boldness in disdain, I care no more to woo. But be thou Death, for whom I cry. Thy lover then indeed am I, Since Phyllis is untrue.”