And, as either so hopelessly nice is, My sole and my final resource Is to wait some indefinite crisis,-- Some feat of molecular force, To solve me this riddle conducive By no means to peace or repose, Since the issue can scarce be inclusive Of Dora _and_ Rose. (_Afterthought._) But, perhaps, if a third (say a Norah), Not quite so delightful as Rose,-- Not wholly so charming as Dora,-- Should appear, is it wrong to suppose,-- As the claims of the others are equal,-- And flight--in the main--is the best,-- That I might ... But no matter,--the sequel Is easily guessed. AD ROSAM. "_Mitte sectari ROSA quo locorum Sera moretur._" --Hor. i. 38. I had a vacant dwelling-- Where situated, I, As naught can serve the telling, Decline to specify;-- Enough 'twas neither haunted, Entailed, nor out of date; I put up "Tenant Wanted," And left the rest to Fate. Then, Rose, you passed the window,-- I see you passing yet,-- Ah, what could I within do, When, Rose, our glances met! You snared me, Rose, with ribbons, Your rose-mouth made me thrall, Brief--briefer far than Gibbon's, Was my "Decline and Fall." I heard the summons spoken That all hear--king and clown: You smiled--the ice was broken; You stopped--the bill was down. How blind we are! It never Occurred to me to seek If you had come for ever, Or only for a week. The words your voice neglected, Seemed written in your eyes; The thought your heart protected, Your cheek told, missal-wise;-- I read the rubric plainly As any Expert could; In short, we dreamed,--insanely, As only lovers should. I broke the tall Oenone, That then my chambers graced, Because she seemed "too bony," To suit your purist taste; And you, without vexation, May certainly confess Some graceful approbation, Designed _a mon adresse_. You liked me then, carina,-- You liked me then, I think; For your sake gall had been a Mere tonic-cup to drink; For your sake, bonds were trivial, The rack, a _tour-de-force_; And banishment, convivial,-- You coming too, of course. Then, Rose, a word in jest meant Would throw you in a state That no well-timed investment Could quite alleviate; Beyond a Paris trousseau You prized my smile, I know, I, yours--ah, more than Rousseau The lip of d'Houdetot. Then, Rose,--But why pursue it? When Fate begins to frown Best write the final "_fuit_," And gulp the physic down. And yet,--and yet, that only, The song should end with this:-- You left me,--left me lonely, _Rosa mutabilis_!