First, thou must know that oftentimes I rise,-- Not heeding or not finding sleep, of watching Afraid no longer to be prodigal,-- And gaze upon the beauty of the night. Quiet hours, while dawn absorbs the waning stars, Are like cold water sipped between our cups Washing the jaded palate till it taste The wine again. Ere the sun rose, I sat Within my garden porch; my lamp was left Burning beside my bed, though it would be Broad day before I should return upstairs. I let it burn, willing to waste some oil Rather than to disturb my tranquil mood; But, as the Fates determined, it was seen.-- Suddenly, running round the dovecote, came A young man naked, breathless, through the dawn, Florid with haste and wine; it was Hipparchus. Yes, there he stood before me panting, rubbing His heated flesh which felt the cold at once. When he had breath enough he begged me straight To put the lamp out; and himself had done it Ere I was on the stair. Flung all along my bed, his gasping shook it When I at length could sit down by his side: 'What cause, young sir, brings you here in this plight At such an hour?' He shuddered, sighed and rolled My blanket round him; then came a gush of words: 'The first of causes, Damon, namely Love, Eldest and least resigned and most unblushing Of all the turbulent impulsive gods. A quarter of an hour scarce has flown Since lovely arms clung round me, and my head Asleep lay nested in a woman's hair; My cheek still bears print of its ample coils.' Athwart its burning flush he drew my fingers And their tips felt it might be as he said. 'Oh I have had a night, a night, a night! Had Paris so much bliss? And oh! was Helen's kiss To be compared with those I tasted? Which but for me had all been wasted On a bald man, a fat man, a gross man, a beast To scare the best guest from the very best feast!' Cydilla need not hear half that he said, For he was mad awhile. But having given rein to hot caprice, And satyr jest, and the distempered male, At length, I heard his story. At sun-down certain miles without the town. He'd chanced upon a light-wheeled litter-car, And in it there stood one Yet more a woman than her garb was rich, With more of youth and health than elegance. 'The mules,' he said, 'were beauties: she was one, And cried directions to the neighbour field: "O catch that big bough! Fool, not that, the next! Clumsy, you've let it go! O stop it swaying, The eggs will jolt out!" From the road,' said he, 'I could not see who thus was rated; so Sprang up beside her and beheld her husband, Lover or keeper, what you like to call him;-- A middle-aged stout man upon whose shoulders Kneeled up a scraggy mule-boy slave, who was The fool that could not reach a thrush's nest Which they, while plucking almond, had revealed. Before she knew who it could be, I said "Why yes, he is a fool, but we, fair friend, Were we not foolish waiting for such fools? Let us be off!" I stooped, took, shook the reins With one hand, while the other clasped her waist.