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Who daily scents his snowy wings
Unseen, amid the revels there,
In the tangles of Love's very hair?
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 enshrined,
Then desolately fall,
Like starlight on a pall
Thy heart—thy heart !-I wake and sigh,
And sleep to dream till day
Of the baubles that it may.
In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed— But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.
Ah! what is not a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past ?
That holy dream-that holy dream,
While all the world were chiding, Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.
What though that light, thro' storm and night,
So trembled from afar-
In Truth's day-star ?
ROMANCE, who loves to nod and sing,
Of late, eternal Condor years