The poems posthumous and collected of Thomas Lovell Beddoes | ||
THE PHANTOM-WOOER.
I
A ghost, that loved a lady fair,Ever in the starry air
Of midnight at her pillow stood;
And, with a sweetness skies above
The luring words of human love,
Her soul the phantom wooed.
Sweet and sweet is their poisoned note,
The little snakes' of silver throat,
In mossy skulls that nest and lie,
Ever singing “die, oh! die.”
II
Young soul, put off your flesh, and comeWith me into the quiet tomb,
Our bed is lovely, dark, and sweet;
The earth will swing us, as she goes,
Beneath our coverlid of snows,
And the warm leaden sheet.
179
The little snakes' of silver throat,
In mossy skulls that nest and lie,
Ever singing “die, oh! die.”
The poems posthumous and collected of Thomas Lovell Beddoes | ||