ummer eves.
Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
I have been half in love with easeful Death,
Calld him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
To take into the air my quiet breath;
Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
While thou art p forth thy soul abroad
In su ecstasy!
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain--
To thy high requiem bee a sod.
Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry geions tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In a days by emperor and :
Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
She stood in tears amid the alien ;
The same that oft-times hath
Charmd magic casements, opening on the foam
Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
Adieu! the fancy ot cheat so well
As she is famd to do, deceiving elf.
Adieu! adieu! thy plaihem fades
Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
Up the hill-side; and now tis buried deep
In the valley-glades:
Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep?