To Miss Louise Olivia Hunter

Though I turn, I fly not -
      I cannot depart;
I would try, but try not
      To release my heart.
And my hopes are dying
While, on dreams relying,
      I am spelled by art.

Thus the bright snake coiling
'Neath the forest tree
Wins the bird, beguiling
      To come down and see:
Like that bird the lover
Round his fate will hover
Till the blow is over
      And he sinks - like me.