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 Puritan pansies. 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. TO 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. BRIDAL BALLAD. 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. TO F 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. |