Chapter 32 No.32

His loved one's eyes could poet ever speak,

So kind, so dewy, and so deep were hers,- 10

But, while he strives, the choicest phrase, too weak,

Their glad reflection in his spirit blurs;

As one may see a dream dissolve and break

Out of his grasp when he to tell it stirs,

Like that sad Dryad doomed no more to bless

The mortal who