The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see

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- thy heart!- I wake and sigh,

And sleep to dream till day

Of the truth that gold can never buy-

Of the baubles that it may.