A hectic hue is on my feverish cheek, And slowly throbs my pulse--but it will cease; And cease, too, will the visions instinct, Impalpable, and deep, that haunt my soul! Death, who can dash the chalice from the lips Of Pleasure's votary, and hush the lyre While poetry is breathing on its strings; Death, who can quench the spirit which portrays Beauty's resemblance on the marble urn, Will steep my feelings in oblivion's gloom, Ere wintry winds disperse the sunny leaves That cluster round the bosom of the rose. But I have communed with enchanting shapes, And felt the silver gush of many a song Amid the air, until my spirit seem'd Instinct with glorious draughts of paradise! Mine eyes have scarcely closed their burning lids For many a night; and I have watch'd the stars That smiled upon me from the brow of heaven, Like deep blue orbs familiar to my youth; But now abstraction clouds me, and the fire-- Ambition's fire--it can be nothing less-- Deserts its lonely shrine; but I must give The last bright touch to this bewitching form, This pictured rainbow of my solitude! I have invested her with loveliness More pure than beings of the earth assume, And Memory calls her beauteous image back From the forgotten things of distant years, Warm, eloquent, and holy, as the balm Of flow'rs impearl'd with dew, which summer skies Diffuse around--I mark the marble brow Of polish'd symmetry, the eyes more blue Than violets in their vernal bloom, the neck Swanlike, and moulded with ethereal grace; And feel their magic influence on my mind. I will embody them, and give the stamp Of fervid genius to their various charms, Ere this last aspiration is extinct In the unbroken slumbers of the tomb! For I have had prophetic monitors To warn me of my fate, and I must leave All that is lovely in this lovely world.