The Sisters' Tragedy, with Other Poems, Lyrical and Dramatic

PALINODE

  Who is Lydia, pray, and who  Is Hypatia? Softly, dear,  Let me breathe it in your ear—  They are you, and only you.  And those other nameless two  Walking in Arcadian air—  She that was so very fair?  She that had the twilight hair?—  They were you, dear, only you.  If I speak of night or day,  Grace of fern or bloom of grape,  Hanging cloud or fountain spray,  Gem or star or glistening dew,  Or of mythologic shape,  Psyche, Pyrrha, Daphne, say—  I mean you, dear, you, just you.

A PETITION

  To spring belongs the violet, and the blown  Spice of the roses let the summer own.  Grant me this favor, Muse—all else withhold—  That I may not write verse when I am old.  And yet I pray you, Muse, delay the time!  Be not too ready to deny me rhyme;  And when the hour strikes, as it must, dear Muse,  I beg you very gently break the news.