Me, and thyself, and, perchance, even a third with it too.Visions of hope, deceive ye my heart! Ye kindly Immortals,
Which not to all its holy sense explained,When 'mid the crowd, their icy shadows flinging,
Thus propose to the throng, skillfully hidden in words.Each one enjoys the strange commingling of images graceful,
I look'd and saw a beauteous maid
Silently giving them birth, either the first or the last!Yes, and rejoice in the present day! For love that is holy
Oh, were I a steed!Thou wouldst love me indeed.Oh, were I a carFit to bear thee afar!Oh, were I a steed!Thou wouldst love me indeed.
Up the steep path but step by step to roll?
Ye all vanish, and nought, saving the moment, remains.Yes! it remains,--my joy still remains! I hold thee; my Dora,
As when first form'd in majesty.
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