Were I the poet-laureate of the fairies, Who in a rose-leaf finds too broad a page; Or could I, like your beautiful canaries, Sing with free heart and happy, in a cage; Perhaps I might within this little space (As in some Eastern tale, by magic power, A giant is imprisoned in a flower) Have told you something with a poet's grace. But I need wider limits, ampler scope, A world of freedom for a world of passion, And even then, the glory of my hope Would not be uttered in its stateliest fashion; Yet, lady, when fit language shall have told it, You'll find one little heart enough to hold it!