She.
"Fisher-boy! this sea of thine
Maddens thee with mighty wine!
Fair thou art: yet thou and I
Are as is the sea and sky,
Which may meet but cannot marry;
If, for love of you, I'd tarry,
'Twere as though a cloud should wed
With some hill-top. Soft night sped
Lone the hill rises. Touch my hand
And better shalt thou understand."
He.
"I cannot take it! Plain I see
The soft, smooth skin, so velvety,
Of hand and wrist! Yet, when I clasp,
It is a mist melts in my grasp.
Now, I would give you back this dress
If you will change such loveliness
To solid flesh, not floating air,
Oh, thou than living flesh more fair!"
She.
"Peace! most foolish boy and fond!
I am what those are beyond;
