Two winged genii in the air I greeted as they pass'd me by: The one a bow and quiver bare, The other shouted joyously. Both I besought to stay their speed, But never Love nor Youth had beed Of my wild cry. As swift and careless as the wind, Youth fled, nor ever once look'd back; A moment Love was left behind, But follow'd soon his fellow's track. Yet loitering at my heart he bent His bow, then smil'd with changed intent: The string was slack. |