![]() While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad I have been half in love with easeful Death,Ĭall'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine įast fading violets cover'd up in leaves The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,īut, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet I cannot see what flowers are at my feet, ![]() ![]() Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:Īnd haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, Where but to think is to be full of sorrow Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs, Here, where men sit and hear each other groan What thou among the leaves hast never known, That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,Īnd with thee fade away into the forest dim:įade far away, dissolve, and quite forget O, for a draught of vintage! that hath beenĬool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,ĭance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!įull of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |