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And ah ! let it never
Be foolishly said
And narrow my bed ;
In a different bed And, to sleep, you must slumber
In just such a bed. My tantalized spirit
Here blandly reposes, Forgetting, or never
Regretting its roses Its old agitations
Of myrtles and roses : For now, while so quietly
Lying, it fancies A holier odor
About it, of pansies A rosemary odor,
Commingled with pansies With rue and the beautiful
Bathing in many
And the beauty of Annie —
Drowned in a bath
Of the tresses of Annie.
She tenderly kissed me,
She fondly caressed, And then I fell gently
To sleep on her breast Deeply to sleep
From the heaven of her breast.
When the light was extinguished,
She covered me warm,
To keep me from harm
To shield me from harm.
And I lie so composedly,
Now, in my bed, (Knowing her love)
That you fancy me dead And I rest so contentedly,
Now in my bed, (With her love at my breast)
That you fancy me dead That you
shudder to look at me, Thinking me dead :
But my heart it is brighter
Than ail of the many
For it sparkles with Annie -
my Annie With the thought of the light
Of the eyes of my Annie.
HEED not that my earthly lot
Hath little of Earth in it
In the hatred of a minute :
Are happier, sweet, than I,
Who am a passer-by.
HE ring is on my hand,
And the wreath is on my brow; Satins and jewels grand Are all at my command,
And I am happy now.
And my lord he loves me well ;
But, when first he breathed his vow, I felt my bosom swell For the words rang as a knell, And the voice seemed his who fell In the battle down the dell,
And who is happy now. But he spoke to reassure me,
And he kissed my pallid brow, While a reverie came o'er me, And to the church-yard bore me, And I sighed to him before me, Thinking him dead D'Elormie,
“Oh, I am happy now !” And thus the words were spoken,
And this the plighted vow, And, though my faith be broken, And, though my heart be broken, Behold the golden token
That proves me happy now! Would God I could awaken!
For I dream I know not how, And my soul is sorely shaken Lest an evil step be taken, Lest the dead who is forsaken
May not be happy now.
ELOVED! amid the earnest woes
That crowd around my earthly path
(Drear path, alas! where grows Not even one lonely rose) –
My soul at least a solace hath
And thus my memory is to me
Like some enchanted far-off isle
With storms — but where meanwhile
Just o'er that one bright island smile.