Kate! if e'er thy light foot lingers On the lawn, when up the fells Steals the Dark, and fairy fingers Close unseen the pimpernels: When, his thighs with sweetness laden, From the meadow comes the bee,...
Often, when o'er tree and turret, Eve a dying radiance flings, By that ancient pile I linger Known familiarly as "King's." And the ghosts of days departed Rise, and in my burning breast...