"Miss not the occasion: by the forelock take That subtile Power, the never-halting Time, Lest a mere moment's putting-off should make Mischance almost as heavy as a crime." "WAIT, prithee, wait!" this answer Lesbia threw Forth to her Dove, and took no further heed; Her eye was busy, while her fingers flew Across the harp, with soul-engrossing speed; But from that bondage when her thoughts were freed She rose, and toward the close-shut casement drew, Whence the poor unregarded Favourite, true To old affections, had been heard to plead With flapping wing for entrance. What a shriek! Forced from that voice so lately tuned to a strain Of harmony! -- a shriek of terror, pain, And self-reproach! for, from aloft, a Kite Pounced, -- and the Dove, which from its ruthless beak She could not rescue, perished in her sight! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO MARY by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 10. THE PORTRAIT by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI BITTERNESS by VICTORIA MARY SACKVILLE-WEST PROUD MAISIE, FR. THE HEART OF MIDLOTHIAN by WALTER SCOTT CHRISTMAS LULLABY by MARY KATUS ANDERSON |