_You cannot eat your cake and have it too._--Proverb. How fever'd is that Man who cannot look Upon his mortal days with temperate blood Who vexes all the leaves of his Life's book And robs his fair name of its maidenhood. It is as if the rose should pluck herself Or the ripe plum finger its misty bloom, As if a clear Lake meddling with itself Should cloud its clearness with a muddy gloom. But the rose leaves herself upon the Briar For winds to kiss and grateful Bees to feed, And the ripe plum still wears its dim attire, The undisturbed Lake has crystal space-- Why then should man, teasing the world for grace Spoil his salvation by a fierce miscreed? ANOTHER ON FAME Fame like a wayward girl will still be coy To those who woo her with too slavish knees But makes surrender to some thoughtless boy And dotes the more upon a heart at ease-- She is a Gipsy will not speak to those Who have not learnt to be content without her, A Jilt whose ear was never whisper'd close, Who think they scandal her who talk about her-- A very Gipsy is she Nilus born, Sister-in-law to jealous Potiphar-- Ye lovesick Bards, repay her scorn for scorn, Ye lovelorn Artists, madmen that ye are, Make your best bow to her and bid adieu, Then if she likes it she will follow you. TO SLEEP O soft embalmer of the still midnight Shutting with careful fingers and benign Our gloom-pleased eyes embowered from the light Enshaded in forgetfulness divine-- O soothest sleep, if so it please thee close In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes, Or wait the amen, ere thy poppy throws Around my bed its dewy Charities. Then save me or the passed day will shine Upon my pillow breeding many woes. Save me from curious conscience that still lords Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a Mole-- Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards, And seal the hushed Casket of my soul. The following Poem--the last I have written--is the first and the only one with which I have taken even moderate pains. I have for the most part dash'd off my lines in a hurry. This I have done leisurely--I think it reads the more richly for it, and will I hope encourage me to write other things in even a more peaceable and healthy spirit. You must recollect that Psyche was not embodied as a goddess before the time of Apuleius the Platonist who lived after the Augustan age, and consequently the Goddess was never worshipped or sacrificed to with any of the ancient fervour--and perhaps never thought of in the old religion--I am more orthodox than to let a heathen Goddess be so neglected-- ODE TO PSYCHE