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SONNBTS. 335 XLI. TO ROMANCE. RO?ASCZ, I hate thee ! And, if e'er the tone Of my lone harp should meet another's ear, And, haply, he remark, with heartless sneer, That it can utter mournful sounds alone, Tell him, I never bow'd before thy throne, That, ifl sung of wee, I was sincere, That, tho' perchance no outward sign appear, Yet Passions wild oft claim me as their own, Too fiery for the weak, fantastic whine "Of puny poets puling to the Moon ;" And tell him too that Joy would often tune To extasy this wayward heart of mine, To extasy, which I would not resign For all, that gilds the world's most cloudless noon. ......... ?Google
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