SWEET the breath of the south, creeping the hills above :
Thus at ease on the turf rest we, and speak of love.
What save this may engage us
Lying here, with the elms above?
Firmly fixed in your heart lies there an image fair?
Yes? I thought it, you rogue! Lovely beyond compare?
So is each that enchains us,
Once we're safe in her silken snare.
Ah, my heart! there was one, lovely as light of day;
She, my goddess, my queen, pledged me her love for aye.
Let it pass - for she left me :
Richer gifts on her altar lay.
Cruel, cruel are all, idols of shapely stone;
Hearts but magnets of steel, cleaving to gold alone.
Live, and laugh, and forget them;
What care we for a nymph of stone?
J. H. B.