Chapter II: The Prudent Lover

I dreamed a song of a wild, wild love
And purposed to follow her flying hair,
Singing my music, through vale and grove,
Till dusk met the hills—and I clasped her there.

But—mumbling ancient I have become!—
I sang two staves, and then gave o’er;
And carried my song with prudence home;
And nailed it as motto above my door.

Now, the angels in heaven will crown me with bays;
And give me a golden trumpet to blow
When at last I die, full of virtuous days ...
But my wild, wild love—will she ever know?