TO - -
The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see The wantonest singing birds Are lips - and all thy melody Of lip-begotten words -
Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrin'd Then desolately fall, O! God! on my funereal mind Like starlight on a pall -
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.