AT first awhile sits he,
With calm, unruffled brow;
His features then I see,
Distorted hideously,–
An owl’s they might be now.
What is it, askest thou?
Is’t love, or is’t ennui?
‘Tis both at once, I vow.
1767-9.
AT first awhile sits he,
With calm, unruffled brow;
His features then I see,
Distorted hideously,–
An owl’s they might be now.
What is it, askest thou?
Is’t love, or is’t ennui?
‘Tis both at once, I vow.
1767-9.