If I had only loved your
And careless damned your soul to Hell,
I might have laughed and loved afresh,
And loved as lightly and as well,
And little more to tell.
But since to clasp your soul I strove,(That mountebank, that fugitive)Anrl poured the river of my
Through meshes that, like Danae's sieve,
Drained all I had to give,
Now nightly by the tamarisksI pace, and watch the risen
Litter the sea with silver disks;
And pray of night one only boon:
Let my release be soon.
