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THE LOVER'S TALE
43
Its knotted thorns thro' my unpaining brows,
Leaning its roses on my faded eyes.
The wind had blown above me, and the rain
Had fall'n upon me, and the gilded snake
Had nestled in this bosom-throne of Love,
But I had been at rest for evermore.
Long time entrancement held me. All too soon
Life (like a wanton too- officious friend.
Who will not hear denial, vain and rude
With proffer of unwished- for services)
Entering all the avenues of sense
Past thro' into his citadel, the brain.
With hated warmth of apprehensiveness.
And first the chillness of the sprinkled brook
Smote on my brows, and then I seem'd to hear
Its murmur, as the drowning seaman hears,
Who with his head below the surface dropt
