Who thus hath breathed her soul to me.
In every leaf thou bearest;
Welcome, dear gazelle, to thee,
And joy to her the fairest!
Hail ye living, speaking flowers,
That breathe of her who bound ye;
Oh, 'twas not in fields, or bowers;
'Twas on her lips, she found ye;--
Yes, ye blushing, speaking flowers,
'Twas on her lips she found ye.
NO--LEAVE MY HEART TO REST.
No--leave my heart to rest, if rest it may,
When youth, and love, and hope, have past away.
Couldst thou, when summer hours are fled,
To some poor leaf that's fallen and dead,
Bring back the hue it wore, the scent it shed?
No--leave this heart to rest, if rest it may,
When youth, and love, and hope, have past away.
Oh, had I met thee then, when life was bright,
Thy smile might still have fed its tranquil light;
But now thou comest like sunny skies,
Too late to cheer the seaman's eyes,
When wrecked and lost his bark before him lies!
No--leave this heart to rest, if rest it may,
Since youth, and love, and hope have past away.
WHERE ARE THE VISIONS.
"Where are the visions that round me once hovered,
"Forms that shed grace from their shadows alone;
"Looks fresh as light from a star just discovered,
"And voices that Music might take for her own?"
Time, while I spoke, with his wings resting o'er me,
Heard me say, "Where are those visions, oh where?"
And pointing his wand to the sunset before me,
Said, with a voice like the hollow wind, "There.
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