A Recantation

The conqueror's chaplet doth not suit at all
Those girlish azure orbs, and tresses' flow:
Above — the victor wreath of ravaged Gaul —
The fairy-land of thy sweet face below,
Unscathed and clear! Ill fancy! that I wrought
A garland for thee of such stern device;
I made a monster, Katie, when I brought
The Caesar's shadow o'er thy sunny eyes;
But I must kiss thee, darling, all the same;
What, peevish! and this one brief kiss my dole!
Well — as it seems but half a kiss I stole,
Now thou art but half Katie, I will claim
The other half when thou art Katie whole,
Uncrost by martial hints and Roman fame.