  “GENTLE, modest, little flower, Sweet epitome of May, Love me but for half-an-hour, Love me, love me, little Fay.” Sentences so fiercely flaming In your tiny shell-like ear, I should always be exclaiming, “Smiles that thrill from any distance Shed upon me while I sing! Please ecstaticise existence; Love me, oh, thou fairy thing!” Words like these, outpouring sadly, You’d perpetually hear, If I loved you, fondly, madly;— But I do not, Phoebe, dear! William Schwenck Gilbert. |
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