To dream the hour that shall it quite dispel.

Allow my head, that rings and echoes still
With your last kiss, to lie upon your breast,
Till it recover from the stormy thrill,--
And let me sleep a little, since you rest.



SPLEEN

The roses were so red, so red,
The ivies altogether black.

If you but merely turn your head,
Beloved, all my despairs come back!

The sky was over-sweet and blue,
Too melting green the sea did show.

I always fear,--if you but knew!--
From your dear hand some killing blow.

Weary am I of holly-tree
And shining box and waving grass

Upon the tame unending lea,--
And all and all but you, alas!