I heed not that my earthly lot Hath--little of Earth in it-- That years of love have been forgot In the hatred of a minute:-- I mourn not that the desolate Are happier, sweet, than I, But that _you_ sorrow for _my_ fate Who am a passer-by. 1829. * * * * * TO---- The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see The wantonest singing birds, Are lips--and all thy melody Of lip-begotten words-- Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrined Then desolately fall, O God! on my funereal mind Like starlight on a pall-- Thy heart--_thy_ heart!--I wake and sigh, And sleep to dream till day Of the truth that gold can never buy-- Of the baubles that it may. 1829. * * * * * TO THE RIVER Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow Of crystal, wandering water, Thou art an emblem of the glow Of beauty--the unhidden heart-- The playful maziness of art In old Alberto's daughter; But when within thy wave she looks-- Which glistens then, and trembles-- Why, then, the prettiest of brooks Her worshipper resembles; For in his heart, as in thy stream, Her image deeply lies-- His heart which trembles at the beam Of her soul-searching eyes. 1829. * * * * * SONG. I saw thee on thy bridal day-- When a burning blush came o'er thee, Though happiness around thee lay, The world all love before thee: And in thine eye a kindling light (Whatever it might be) Was all on Earth my aching sight Of Loveliness could see. That blush, perhaps, was maiden shame-- As such it well may pass-- Though its glow hath raised a fiercer flame In the breast of him, alas! Who saw thee on that bridal day, When that deep blush _would_ come o'er thee, Though happiness around thee lay, The world all love before thee. 1827. * * * * * SPIRITS OF THE DEAD.