Nay, Zamperina, save those agate Eyes
From shrewd empiric Paths where Knowledge lies;
Throw Truth to the Unlovely, when to you
It were a rash Unwisdom to be Wise.



LXXXI



Oh, like the Smoke that rises and is gone,
Let your own Spirit lift from Dawn to Dawn
And so bestartle Ennui that at last
Even the Grave will quite forget to yawn!



* * * * * * *



LXXXII



As hooded Eve behind her rosy Bars
Her soft Kinoon betinkled to the Stars,