Who daily scents his snowy wings Unseen, amid the revels there, Till, growing bold, he laughed and leapt In the tangles of Love's very hair? то 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, 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 the truth that gold can never buy— Of the baubles that it may. A DREAM. IN visions of the dark night I have dreamed of joy departed But a waking dream of life and light Ah! what is not a dream by day That holy dream-that holy dream, Hath cheered me as a lovely beam A lonely spirit guiding. What though that light, thro' storm and night, So trembled from afar What could there be more purely bright In Truth's day-star? ROMANCE. ROMANCE, who loves to nod and sing, Hath been-a most familiar bird- Of late, eternal Condor years So shake the very Heaven on high |