Little Apollo Eolian

With what words doth ye describe thy deep soul, little Eolian, Apollo? What ask of me thy plea, poesy 'darling' to see; With prim pleasure as a painter (druid) so brown with earth? so sober as wakefulness ----- ..... tis not bitter sometimes to hold a thing of damp love in the throes of day's end, forsaken..... in drunk mood, staring your soul in the stars; To Byron I am oft too fond, little lush I am, as he ----- his 'cup half-empty' But sober, Keats, Wordsworth (Tennyson) my company to be..... and the cottage heath by the sea, where the waterfall flows to peace, and a maiden most fair to tickle my feet; soft summer moons, pink and looming to greet, fleeting..... To wine and Byron and Shelley, Swinburne does fine; Little Apollo Eolian chiming in breeze, sing me a little Shakespeare, there in the gossamer wood..... neath the misted moon..... Where the days are long as they are fair, and what moods you bring me ---- I do not care, long as somewhere William is there, by she and the meadow, winding mountain trail (and all that's fair) ' Little Apollo Eolian ' ** Inspired by the Eolian Harp, which responded to gusts of breeze**