Chapter 16: XV

XV Black eyes you have left, you say, Blue eyes fail to draw you; Yet you seem more rapt today, Than of old we saw you. Oh, I track the fairest fair Through new haunts of pleasure; Footprints here and echoes there Guide me to my treasure: Lo! she turns—immortal youth Wrought to mortal stature, Fresh as starlight’s aged truth— Many-named Nature! A great historian, as he insisted on calling himself, who had the happiness …