LESBIA'S SPARROWSparrow! my pet's delicious joy,Wherewith in bosom nurst to toyShe loves, and gives her finger-tipFor sharp-nib'd greeding neb to nip,Were she who my desire withstoodTo seek some pet of merry mood,As crumb o' comfort for her grief,Methinks her burning lowe's relief:Could I, as plays she, play with thee,That mind might win from misery free!To me t'were grateful (as they say), Gold codling was to fleet-foot May,Whose long-bound zone it loosed for aye.

ON THE DEATH OF LESBIA'S SPARROWWeep every Venus, and all Cupids wail, And men whose gentler spirits still prevail. Dead is the Sparrow of my girl, the joy, Sparrow, my sweeting's most delicious toy, Whom loved she dearer than her very eyes;For he was honeyed-pet and anywiseKnew her, as even she her mother knew;Ne'er from her bosom's harbourage he flewBut 'round her hopping here, there, everywhere,Piped he to none but her his lady fair.Now must he wander o'er the darkling wayThither, whence life-return the Fates denay.But ah! beshrew you, evil Shadows low'ringIn Orcus ever loveliest things devouring:Who bore so pretty a Sparrow fro' her ta'en.(Oh hapless birdie and Oh deed of bane!)Now by your wanton work my girl appearsWith turgid eyelids tinted rose by tears.

ON HIS PINNACEYonder Pinnace ye (my guests!) beholdSaith she was erstwhile fleetest-fleet of crafts,Nor could by swiftness of aught plank that swims,Be she outstripped, whether paddle plied,Or fared she scudding under canvas-sail.Eke she defieth threat'ning Adrian shore,Dare not denay her, insular Cyclades,And noble Rhodos and ferocious Thrace,Propontis too and blustering Pontic bight.Where she (my Pinnace now) in times before,Was leafy woodling on Cytórean ChineFor ever loquent lisping with her leaves.Pontic Amastris! Box-tree-clad Cytórus!