Erinna to Love


Who breathes to thee the holiest prayer,
O Love! is ever least thy care.
Alas! I may not ask thee why 'tis so . .
Because a fiery scroll I see
Hung at the throne of Destiny,
Reason with Love and register with Woe.


Few question thee, for thou art strong
And, laughing loud at right and wrong,
Seizest, and dashest down, the rich, the poor;
Thy scepter's iron studs alike
The meaner and the prouder strike,
And wise and simple fear thee and adore.
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