Within Fancy's Halls I sit, and quaff Rich draughts of the Wine of Song, And I drink, and drink, To the very brink Of delirium wild and strong, Till I lose all sense of the outer world,...
Early each spring the little wren Came scolding to his nest of moss; We knew him by his peevish cry, He always sung so very cross. His quiet little mate would lay Her eggs in peace, and think all day....
Her love is like the hardy flower That blooms amid the Alpine snows; Deep-rooted in an icy bower, No blast can chill its sweet repose; But fresh as is the tropic rose, Drenched in mellowest sunny beams,...
Within thine eyes two spirits dwell, The sweetest and the purest That ever wove Love's mystic spell, Or plied his arts the surest: No smile of morn, Though heaven-born,...