Classic Poem

She mark'd where I and Fabian met;
She loves his face, she knows the spot;
And there she waits with locks unwet
For Fabian that suspects her not.

I see her riving fingers tear
A branch of walnut-leaves, and that
More sweetly shades her stolen hair
Than fan or hood or strawy plait.

He sees her, O but he must miss
A something in her face of guile,
*And relish not her loveless kiss
And wonder at her shallow smile.*[or And half mislike her loveless kiss.]

Ah no! and she who sits beside
Bids him this way his gazes fix.
*Then she seems sweet who seems his bride,
She sour who seems the slighted Nix.*[or Then sweetest seems the seeming bride When maddest looks the slighted Nix.]

I know of the bored and bitten rocks
Not so far outward in the sea:
There lives the witch shall win my locks
And my blue eyes again for me.

Alas! but I am all at fault,
Nor locks nor eyes shall win again.
I dare not taste the thickening salt,
I cannot meet the swallowing main.

Or if I go, she stays meanwhile,
Who means to wed or means to kill,
And speeds uncheck'd her murderous guile
Or wholly winds him to her will.