Poetry · To ⸻

To ⸻

“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 truth that gold can never buy⁠—

Of the bawbles that it may.