Page:The Venetian Bracelet.pdf/119

108

Had I known even an unhappy love, It would have flung an interest round life Mine never knew. This is an empty wish; Our feelings are not fires to light at will Our nature's fine and subtle mysteries; We may control them, but may not create, And love less than its fellows. I have fed Perhaps too much upon the lotos fruits Imagination yields,—fruits which unfit The palate for the more substantial food Of our own land—reality. I made My heart too like a temple for a home; My thoughts were birds of paradise, that breathed The airs of heaven, but died on touching earth. —The knight whose deeds were stainless as his crest, Who made my name his watchword in the field;