To Phœbe
“GENTLE, modest, little flower,
Sweet epitome of May,
Love me but for half-an-hour,
Love me, love me, little Fay.”
Sentences so fiercely flaming
In your tiny shell-like ear,
I should always be exclaiming,
If I loved you, Phœbe, dear!
“Smiles that thrill from any distance
Shed upon me while I sing!
Please ecstaticise existence;
Love me, oh, thou fairy thing!”
Words like these, outpouring sadly,
You’d perpetually hear,
If I loved you, fondly, madly;—
But I do not, Phœbe, dear!
William Schwenck Gilbert.