238
EPILOGUE.
23.
"Nay, thoughtlings they themselves:
Loves, hates—in little and less and least!
Thoughts? 'What is a man beside a mount!'
Loves? 'Absent—poor lovers the minutes count!'
Hates? 'Fie—Pope's letters to Martha Blount!'
These furnish a wine for a children's-feast:
Insipid to man, they suit the elves
Like thoughts, loves, hates themselves."
"Nay, thoughtlings they themselves:
Loves, hates—in little and less and least!
Thoughts? 'What is a man beside a mount!'
Loves? 'Absent—poor lovers the minutes count!'
Hates? 'Fie—Pope's letters to Martha Blount!'
These furnish a wine for a children's-feast:
Insipid to man, they suit the elves
Like thoughts, loves, hates themselves."
24.
And, friends, beyond dispute
I too have the cowslips dewy and dear.
Punctual as Springtide forth peep they:
I leave them to make my meadow gay.
And, friends, beyond dispute
I too have the cowslips dewy and dear.
Punctual as Springtide forth peep they:
I leave them to make my meadow gay.
