. . .The wondering stars that hold her name in fear— Oh! then I know that mine Amati's tone Is all for me, and that he stands alone, First of his tribe, belov'd without a peer.

[Pg 18]

XV.

Yea, this is so, my Lady! A fair form Made of the garner'd relics of a tree, In which of old a dryad of the lea Did live and die. He flourish'd in a storm, And learnt to warble when the days were warm And learnt at night the secrets of the sea.

XVI.

And now he is all mine, for my caress And my strong bow,—an Ariel, as it seems,— A something sweeter than the sweetest dreams; A prison'd wizard that has come to bless And will not curse, though tortured, more or less, By some remembrance that athwart him streams.

XVII.

It is the thought of April. 'Tis the tie That made us one; for then the earth was fair With all things on't, and summer in the air Tingled for thee and. . . Read More