II.

And Young Love sits upon a flowery knoll Where those two streamlets mix, his shafts he dips In their joint flow, and ceaseless twangs at all Who pass his ivory bow with wanton quips. But in the honeyest kiss of human lips There lurks a poison--ay, when hearts most mingle, Doth Fate perchance prepare his scorpion whips; And nerves that with the keenest rapture tingle Shall haply curse the hour when ceased they to be single!