Part 6 (2/2)

Ah! Shame that she, whose head is vaunted so, Hath vision narrowed to a needle's eye

And only far froland know That she has doos her wreath of woe, Sweet Rhine, a tear, and lyric France a sigh

THE CRITICS

And when thy soul hadand sound it, Outside the walls, the diht keen and barbed darts ith to wound it: There was a fault, a fearful deadly fault, And loud they screamed a very bull's-eye named it; As one they saw, as one they would assault-- Each kneeling archer drew his dart and aimed it

And lo! How fared a myriad archetypes!

A myriad fancies, sounds, and colors riddled!

And harps! and horns! and flutes! and lutes! and pipes!

And O! the laugh as each so its song And laughed its laugh unconscious of a wrong

AVAILABILITY

And shall I join this scrahtful spirit, To bind his song, that fettered earsnao la merit?

Or fly no htness to an ordered ga rapture less in fancy free!

But sing thou bondenMy spirit-bird, 'til shackles , May bend to crass availability

A PORTRAIT

She was a breath of forest-wild perfume So sweet, one could but stand and drink it in, Until the soul should burst; a dream so thin And airy fine, it seerance in the room When it had vanished Garb'd in snowy lynn So rare one knew not where it did begin-- A scented sunbealoom

And thou hast called her woue To call her Heaven Aching fancy lonely Still breathes that fragrance in a song unsung, Or wandering, lost deep in a golden dream, Hears shite Lurley from a vanished stream

ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY

Ah! Thou wert fairer than the early led with the dewy flowers-- A lynn soft woven in the wondrous hours That hedged about thy dreams But Lo! the horn Of some far Triton from the sea up-borne Across the bluey hills, and tinted showers Faint lirots and bowers, Bound thee in thrall by er bide the sweet low calling Of so ny And Nerius calling in thy spirits coralled lymph