To (＂The bowers whereat＂)

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.

(1829)