To----
The bowers whereat, in dreams, I seeThe wantonest singing birds,
Are lips--and all thy melodyOf lip-begotten words--
Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrinedThen desolately fall,O God! on my funereal mindLike starlight on a pall--
Thy heart--thy heart!--I wake and sigh,And sleep to dream till dayOf the truth that gold can never buy--Of the baubles that it may.
Sign in to like, rate and collect poems, and keep track of what you've read.