She dwells with Beauty-Beauty that must die ; Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine, Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue Can burst joy's grape against his palate fine ; His soul shall taste the sadness of her might, And he among her cloudy trophies hung. SLEEP AND POETRY. As I lay in my bed slepe full unmete WHAT is more gentle than a wind in summer? Light hoverer around our happy pillows. Wreather of poppy buds, and weeping willows! Silent entangler of a beauty's tresses! Most happy listener! when the morning blesses Thee for enlivening all the cheerful eyes That glance so brightly at the new sun-rise. But what is higher beyond thought than thee? Fresher than berries of a mountain-tree? More strange, more beautiful, more smooth, more regal, It has a glory, and nought else can share it : No one who once the glorious sun has seen, O Poesy! for thee I hold my pen, Of thy wide heaven-should I rather kneel A glowing splendour round about me hung, Of thy wide heaven; yet, to my ardent prayer, Of flowering bays, that I may die a death Like a fresh sacrifice; or, if I can bear The o'erwhelming sweets, 'twill bring me to the fair Visions of all places: a bowery nook Will be elysium—an eternal book Whence I may copy many a lovely saying About the leaves, and flowers-about the playing Round my fire-side, and haply there discover Or a green hill o'erspread with chequer'd dress Stop and consider! life is but a day ; Of Montmorenci. Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown ; The light uplifting of a maiden's veil ; O for ten years, that I may overwhelm Myself in poesy! so I may do the deed That my own soul has to itself decreed. Then I will pass the countries that I see In long perspective, and continually Taste their pure fountains. First the realm I'll pass Of Flora, and Old Pan: sleep in the grass, Feed upon apples red, and strawberries, And choose each pleasure that my fancy sees, |