But bless you, it’s dear—­it’s dear! fowls, wine, at double the rate;
     They have clapped a new tax upon salt, and what oil pays passing
                the gate
     It’s a horror to think of.  And so, the villa for me, not the city! 
     Beggars can scarcely be choosers:  but still—­ah, the pity, the pity! 
     Look, two and two go the priests, then the monks with cowls and
                sandals,
     And then penitents dressed in white shirts, a-holding the yellow
                candles;
     One, he carries a flag up straight, and another a cross with handles,
     And the Duke’s guard brings up the rear, for the better prevention
                of scandals: 
     Bang-whang-whang goes the drum, tootle-te-tootle the fife,
     Oh, a day in the city-square, there is no such pleasure in life!

     IN THREE DAYS

So, I shall see her in three days And just one night,—­but nights are short,—­ Then two long hours, and that is morn.  See how I come, unchanged, unworn—­ Feel, where my life broke off from thine, How fresh the splinters keep and fine,—­Only a touch and we combine!

     Too long, this time of year, the days! 
     But nights—­at least the nights are short,
     As night shows where her one moon is,
     A hand’s-breadth of pure light and bliss,
     So, life’s night gives my lady birth
     And my eyes hold her!  What is worth
     The rest of heaven, the rest of earth?

O loaded curls, release your store Of warmth and scent, as once before The tingling hair did, lights and darks Outbreaking into fairy sparks When under curl and curl I pried After the warmth and scent inside, Through lights and darks how manifold—­The dark inspired, the light controlled!  As early Art embrowned the gold.

     What great fear—­should one say, “Three days
     That change the world might change as well
     Your fortune; and if joy delays,
     Be happy that no worse befell.” 
     What small fear—­if another says,
     “Three days and one short night beside
     May throw no shadow on your ways;
     But years must teem with change untried,
     With chance not easily defied,
     With an end somewhere undescried.” 
     No fear!—­or if a fear be born
     This minute, it dies out in scorn. 
     Fear?  I shall see her in three days
     And one night,—­now the nights are short,—­
     Then just two hours, and that is morn.

     IN A YEAR

     Never any more,
          While I live,
     Need I hope to see his face
          As before. 
     Once his love grown chill,
          Mine may strive: 
     Bitterly we re-embrace,
          Single still.

     Was it something said,
          Something done,
     Vexed him? was it touch of hand,
          Turn of head? 
     Strange! that very way
          Love begun: 
     I as little understand
          Love’s decay.