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If I could dwell
Where Israfel

Hath dwelt, and he where I, He might not sing so wildly well A mortal melody,

While a bolder note than this might swell From my lyre within the sky.

FOR ANNIE.

THANK Heaven! the crisis,
The danger, is past,
And the lingering illness
Is over at last-

And the fever called "Living"
Is conquered at last.

Sadly, I know,

I am shorn of my strength,
And no muscle I move

As I lie at full length-
But no matter!-I feel
I am better at length.

And I rest so composedly,
Now, in my bed,
That any beholder

Might fancy me dead

Might start at beholding me,

Thinking me dead.

The moaning and groaning,
The sighing and sobbing,

Are quieted now,

With that horrible throbbing At heart-ah that horrible, Horrible throbbing!

The sickness-the nausea

The pitiless pain

Have ceased, with the fever

That maddened my brainWith the fever called "Living" That burned in my brain.

And oh! of all tortures

That torture the worst
Has abated-the terrible
Torture of thirst

For the napthaline river
Of Passion accurst:-
I have drunk of a water
That quenches all thirst:-

Of a water that flows

With a lullaby sound
From a spring but a very few
Feet under ground—
From a cavern not very far

Down under ground.

And ah! let it never

Be foolishly said

That my room it is gloomy
And narrow my bed;

For man never slept

In a different bed

And, to sleep, you must slumber In just such a bed.

My tantalized spirit

Here blandly reposes, Forgetting or never

Regretting its rosesIts old agitations

Of myrtles and roses:

For now, while so quietly
Lying, it fancies

A holier odour

About it of pansies

A rosemary odour

Commingled with pansies-
With rue and the beautiful
Puritan pansies.

And so it lies happily,
Bathing in many

A dream of the truth

And the beauty of AnnieDrowned in a bath

Of the tresses of Annie.

She tenderly kissed me,
She fondly caressed,
And then I fell gently

To sleep on her breast

Deeply to sleep

From the heaven of her breast.

When the light was extinguished
She covered me warm,
And she prayed to the angels
To keep me from harm-
To the queen of the angels
To shield me from harm.

And I lie so composedly,
Now, in my bed
(Knowing her love)

That you fancy me dead-
And I rest so contentedly,

Now, in my bed

(With her love at my breast) That you fancy me deadThat you shudder to look at me, Thinking me dead.

But my heart it is brighter

Than all of the many

Stars in the sky,

For it sparkles with Annie

It glows with the light

Of the love of my Annie-
With the thought of the light
Of the eyes of my Annie.

TO ONE IN PARADISE.

THOU wast all that to me, love, For which my soul did pinegreen isle in the sea, love,

A

A fountain, and a shrine

All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, And all the flowers were mine.

Ah dream too bright to last!
Ah starry hope that didst arise
But to be overcast !

A voice from out the future cries, "On! on!"--but o'er the past

(Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies Mute, motionless, aghast!

For, alas! alas! with me
The light of life is o'er!

No more-no more-no more
(Such language holds the solemn sea
To the sands upon the shore)
Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree,
Or the stricken eagle soar!

And all my days are trances,
And all my nightly dreams
Are where thy dark eye glances,
And where thy footstep gleams-

In what ethereal dances,

By what eternal streams!

THE SLEEPER.

AT midnight, in the month of June,
I stand beneath the mystic moon.
An opiate vapour, dewy, dim,
Exhales from out her golden rim,
And, softly dripping, drop by drop,
Upon the quiet mountain-top,
Steals drowsily and musically
Into the universal valley.

The rosemary nods upon the grave;
The lily lolls upon the wave;
Wrapping the fog about his breast,
The ruin moulders into rest;
Looking like Lethe, see! the lake
A conscious slumber seems to take,
And would not, for the world, awake.
All Beauty sleeps!-and lo! where lies,
Her casement open to the skies,
Irene, with her destinies !

Oh lady bright! can it be right-
This window open to the night?
The wanton airs, from the tree-top,
Laughingly through the lattice drop-
The bodiless airs, a wizard rout,
Flit through thy chamber in and out;
And wave the curtain canopy

So fitfully-so fearfully

Above the closed and fringed lid

'Neath which thy slumbering soul lies hid
That o'er the floor and down the wall
Like ghosts the shadows rise and fall!
Oh lady dear, hast thou no fear

Why and what art thou dreaming here?
Sure thou art come o'er far-off seas,
A wonder to these garden-trees!
Strange is thy pallor! strange thy dress!
Strange, above all, thy length of tress,
And this all solemn silentness!

The lady sleeps! Oh may her sleep,

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