To Miss Louise Olivia Hunter

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<poem>

   Though I turn, I fly not —
       I cannot depart;
   I would try, but try not
       To release my heart.
   And my hopes are dying
       While, on dreams relying,
   I am spelled by art.
   Thus, the bright snake coiling
       [']Neath the forest tree
   Wins the bird, beguiling,
       To come down and see:
   Like that bird the lover
   Round his fate will hover
   Till the blow is over
       And he sinks — like me.

February 14

This work was published before January 1, 1923, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.