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 --- thyheart! --- I wake and sigh, And sleep to dream till day
Of truth that gold can never buy --- Of the baubles that it may.
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