しょ ILICET. OHEN first the rose-light creeps into my room My heart awakes, and sighs with its old pain, Renews that wild desire that is my doom. To free myself from him, I rise and go, Whence watered gardens lead by winding ways She early walks whose soul attracts me so. Fool and forgetful! Shall I cool desire By looking at those lovely eyes of hers, That passionate Love prefers To his own brand for setting hearts on fire? C MISCONCEPTIONS. I. HIS is a spray the Bird clung to, Was the poor spray's, which the flying feet hung to,— II. This is the heart the Queen leant on, Thrilled in a minute erratic, Ere the true bosom she bent on, Meet for love's regal dalmatic, Oh what a fancy ecstatic Was the poor heart's, ere the wanderer went on,— ROBERT BROWNING. し ILICET. HEN first the rose-light creeps into my room My heart awakes, and sighs with its old pain, Renews that wild desire that is my doom. To free myself from him, I rise and go, Whence watered gardens lead by winding ways She early walks whose soul attracts me so. Fool and forgetful! Shall I cool desire By looking at those lovely eyes of hers, To his own brand for setting hearts on fire? C |