GOLDFINCHES AT RYME INTRINSICA 229 



lover, he protects, he honours, he worships me, and in 

 his house my will is law. But I have no pleasure in it. 

 His devotion, his gifts, are like mine to you, when I 

 am carried away by the charm of your beauty and 

 melody, when I call you my sweet little one, and you 

 come to my call to bite me caressingly with your little 

 beak and flutter your black and yellow wings as if to 

 embrace me ; when in my ardour I take you tenderly 

 in my hands to hold you to my heaving breast and wish 

 and wish that in kissing you I could breathe into you 

 my very life ! 



Even so does my owner with me : when in the de- 

 lirium of passion he strains me to him, when he showers 

 gold and gems and all beautiful gifts on me, and seeks 

 after every imaginable pleasure for my delight, and 

 would give his very life for me — his mistress, bride 

 and queen, who is more than all the world to him. 

 In vain — in vain ! Here in my heart there is a voice 

 which asks me : Does it delight you ? Does it 

 sweeten your captivity ? Oh, no, no, his benefits 

 do but increase this secret eternal bitterness ! 



Even so do you, oh, my little bird, reward me for 

 all my love and tenderness and blame me with those 

 painfully sharp notes for this tasteless life to which 

 you are doomed ; even so do you cry for your lost 

 liberty, and open and flutter your wings with the desire 

 to fly. 



You shall not open them in vain — your pleadings 

 have pierced my heart. You shall go, my beloved 

 bird — you shall go in peace. My love can no Ion er 



