We drank the Libyan Sun to sleep, and lit
Lamps which outburn'd Canopus.
O my life In Egypt!
O the dalliance and the wit,
The flattery and the strife.


Or, in 'Mariana in the South':--

She mov'd her lips, she pray'd alone,
She praying, disarray'd and warm
From slumber, deep her wavy form
In the dark lustrous mirror shone,

into

Complaining, "Mother, give me grace
To help me of my weary load".
And on the liquid mirror glow'd
The clear perfection of her face.


How happy is this slight alteration in the verses 'To J. S.' which
corrects one of the falsest notes ever struck by a poet:--

A tear Dropt on _my tablets_ as I wrote.

A tear Dropt on _the letters_ as I wrote.