Ode 7: The Power of Love
Armed with a hyacinthine wand
Love touched me with his little hand—
A most imperious command.
He gave me a swift race to run
With him—by torrents on and on,
By moor and meadow, wood and lawn
Our flight we urged; to him I clung—
When me a water-serpent stung,
Whereat my heart paused, failed my tongue.
He with his wings soft as a dove
Fanned me, and cried, “Does this not prove
How vain it is to strive with Love?”
Love touched me with his little hand—
A most imperious command.
He gave me a swift race to run
With him—by torrents on and on,
By moor and meadow, wood and lawn
Our flight we urged; to him I clung—
When me a water-serpent stung,
Whereat my heart paused, failed my tongue.
He with his wings soft as a dove
Fanned me, and cried, “Does this not prove
How vain it is to strive with Love?”
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