 | Poems |  |
41
FANCIES.
Her kisses hang upon my lips,
Like morning's dews upon the rose;
As soft, as sweet, as balmy too;
And, oh! the lip that tastes such dew,
Like dying love, immortal grows!
Like morning's dews upon the rose;
As soft, as sweet, as balmy too;
And, oh! the lip that tastes such dew,
Like dying love, immortal grows!
Her accents break upon mine ear,
Like music o'er some stream at night;
I'm not on earth when she is near,
Nor yet in heav'n; but in some sphere,
That is than either far more bright!
Like music o'er some stream at night;
I'm not on earth when she is near,
Nor yet in heav'n; but in some sphere,
That is than either far more bright!
| Poems | |