Ode On Passion

1 No, not there! fly! fly away like the swift-winged bird; When the hungry-eyed passion calls; follow her not! Into those wild casements of her raped love; Or to her irritant, militant temples of murder; Go not by her purple-eyed lust; No, be not in her fanatics lost; Go away from her indolent bed of weird dream; Roll not in those occident waves, Either by the thick wood Or the rushing tide; Beware of the furtive eyes Of lean young passion. 2 Nor there! no, go not by the dreamy paths of suicide; You shall in some solitary forlorn cells be! o follow not! Into these wild caves of young paroxysm’s rove; Old revulsion, or excess-eyed prowess; be tender! Let not your soul in thought be so rapt, That even mild secrets be wrung by craft; Go by the streets with modest and bonny dreams: Roll not in hemlock-winged swift winds, Dwell far from weird mimosa-land, And from the livid mood; Be wary of the juggled words Of cunning old passion.