Yes! peerless flower, the Heavens alone exhale
Thy fragrance, while the glittering stars attest,
And incense wafted by the midnight gale,
Untainted rises from thy spotless breast.

How like that Faith whose nature is apart
From human gaze, to love and work unseen,
Which gives to God an undivided heart,
In sorrow steadfast, and in joy serene;
That night-flower of the soul, whose fragrant power
Breathes on the darkness of the closing hour!



1827;

OR, THE POET'S LAST POEM.


Ye Bards in all your thousand dens,
Great souls with fewer pence than pens,
Sublime adorers of Apollo,
With folios full, and purses hollow;
Whose very souls with rapture glisten,
When you can find a fool to listen;
Who, if a debt were paid by pun,
Would never be completely _done_.
Ye bright inhabitants of garrets,
Whose dreams are rich in ports and clarets,