Lo! I tremble for the tryst.

Cushioned for a passion rest,

Pillowed with her pulsing breast.

Kissing deep her dewy lips,

Where the honey breathes and drips;

Till the wildest passions wane—

Pictured through a golden rain.

In the gentle southern land,

Only she might understand.

Drink the mellow wine he brings,

Sweeps its own Æolean strings.

[Pg 42]

Join the far and lyric throng

In the starry skies of song.

Wrapt in fine unconscious ears,

In the bright Æolean spheres.

In the golden hall of Time,

From his pure and crystal clime.

Falling on a dreaming sea,

Hinting all eternity.

 Prev. P 17/36 next