To Miss Louise Olivia Hunter

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    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, 1924, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.