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.