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.
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