‘With me no arritre-pensée lends.
Fall once the penny, head or tail,
T care not—all the less my friends !
Faultlessly faulty! Regular
In ice or fire, 'tis nullness counts.
So, spring of those Parnassian founts,
‘A thousand garters heralded
‘Thy Hawless solitary star:
‘A million garters shall bested
‘The poer's turn, when, lone and far,
All are dismissed: Some man, low brute,
Cry “Shame, O star that would not shoot,
‘And yet went out!” But I, my dear,
(Good-bye!) get neither shriek nor groan :
Kiss, curse, cat’s hiss, I shall not hear,
‘My dear, for I shall be alone.
im