Imatges de pÓgina
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H! there are spirits of the air,
And genii of the evening breeze,
And gentle ghosts, with eyes as


As star-beams among twilight trees :

Such lovely ministers to meet
Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet.

With mountain winds, and babbling springs,
And moonlight seas, that are the voice
Of these inexplicable things

Thou didst hold commune, and rejoice
When they did answer thee; but they
Cast, like a worthless boon, thy love away.

And thou hast sought in starry eyes

Beams that were never meant for thine, Another's wealth:- tame sacrifice

To a fond faith! still dost thou pine? Still dost thou hope that greeting hands, Voice, looks, or lips, may answer thy demands?

Ah! wherefore didst thou build thine hope
On the false earth's inconstancy?
Did thine own mind afford no scope

Of love, or moving thoughts to thee?
That natural scenes or human smiles

Could steal the power to wind thee in their wiles.

Yes, all the faithless smiles are fled

Whose falsehood left thee broken-hearted;

The glory of the moon is dead;

Night's ghosts and dreams have now de


Thine own soul still is true to thee,

But changed to a foul fiend through misery.

To Coleridge

This fiend, whose ghastly presence ever
Beside thee like thy shadow hangs,
Dream not to chase; - the mad endeavour
Would scourge thee to severer pangs.
Be as thou art. Thy settled fate,
Dark as it is, all change would aggravate.

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HE cold earth slept below,

Above the cold sky shone; And all around, with a chilling sound,


From caves of ice and fields of snow,

The breath of night like death did flow
Beneath the sinking moon.


The wintry hedge was black,

The green grass was not seen,

The birds did rest on the bare thorn's breast, Whose roots, beside the pathway track, Had bound their folds o'er many a crack, Which the frost had made between.


Thine eyes glowed in the glare
Of the moon's dying light;
As a fenfire's beam on a sluggish stream,

Gleams dimly, so the moon shone there, And it yellowed the strings of thy raven.


That shook in the wind of night.


The moon made thy lips pale, beloved-
The wind made thy bosom chill
The night did shed on thy dear head

Its frozen dew, and thou didst lie
Where the bitter breath of the naked sky
Might visit thee at will.

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