1
The bowers whereat, in dreams, I seeThe wantonest singing birds Are lips—and all thy melody Of lip-begotten words—
2
Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrin’dThen desolately fall, O! God! on my funereal mind Like starlight on a pall—
3
Thy heart—thy heart!—I wake and sigh,And sleep to dream till day Of truth that gold can never buy— Of the trifles that it may. |