 | Grouped thoughts and scattered fancies |  |
12
XI.
FANCIES.
Here, on this bank of bruiséd violets,That the crush'd odor comes from, lay thee down,
And listen to the silence, and leaves blown,
Until thy overtask'd, sad heart forgets
The sleepless struggle of yon busy town!
There, every passion sickens ere 'tis spent,
Here, others follow ere the first are done,
Each, like its fellow, meetly innocent,
Soul sweetening, and most easy to be won!
And woman!—thou shalt see her as at first,
When, on a bank like this, in Eden sleeping,
On sight of its lone habitant she burst,
Suddenly bright, as heavenly rainbow leaping,
From the retiring cloud where it was nurst.
| Grouped thoughts and scattered fancies | |