by
Robert Graves
"The Primrose Bed"
The eunuch and the unicorn
Walked by the primrose bed;
The month was May, the time was morn,
Their hearts were dull as lead.
"Ah, unicorn", the eunuch cried,
"How tragic is our Spring,
With stir of love on every side,
And loud the sweet birds sing."
Then, arm and foreleg intertwined,
Both mourned their cruel fate-
The one was single of his kind,
the other could not mate.
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