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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