Could I but will,
Will to my bent,
I'd have afar ones near me still,
And music of rare ravishment,
In strains that move the toes and heels!
And when the sweethearts sat for rest
The unbetrothed should foot with zest
Ecstatic reels.
Could I be head,
Head-god, “Come, now,
Dear girl,” I'd say, “whose flame is fled,
Who liest with linen-banded brow,
Stirred but by shakes from Earth's deep core —”
I'd say to her: “Unshroud and meet
That Love who kissed and called thee Sweet! -
Yea, come once more!”
Even half-god power
In spinning dooms
Had I, this frozen scene should flower,
And sand-swept plains and Arctic glooms
Should green them gay with waving leaves,
Mid which old friends and I would walk
With weightless feet and magic talk
Uncounted eves.