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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.

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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 lengthBut 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 bedAnd, to sleep, you must slumber

In just such a bed.

My tantalized spirit

Here blandly reposes, Forgetting or never

Regretting its roses Its 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 Annie Drowned in a bath

Of the tresses of Annie.

She tenderly kissed me,

She fondly caressed, And then I fell gently

To sleep on her breastDeeply 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 harmTo 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 deadAnd 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 pineА green

isle in the sea, love, 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 gleamsIn 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, dirn, 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 rnoulders 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 rightThis window open to the night? The wanton airs, from the tree-top, Laughingly through the lattice dropThe bodiless airs, a wizard rout, Flit through thy chamber in and out; And wave the curtain canopy So fitfully—so fearfullyAbove the closed and fringèd 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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