Sunday, August 4, 2013

1263 Sleeping Atop a Tree

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell 
  To toll me back from thee to my sole self! 
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well 
  As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. 
Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades  
  Past the near meadows, over the still stream, 
    Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep 
          In the next valley-glades: 
  Was it a vision, or a waking dream? 
    Fled is that music:—do I wake or sleep?


No comments:

Post a Comment