Of Love, That Fairest Joys

Parting They Seemed To Tread Upon The Air, Twin Roses By The Zephyr Blown Apart Only To Meet Again More Close.

What Shocks The Virtuous Philosopher, Delights The Chameleon Poet.

Adieu! Adieu! Thy Plaintive Anthem Fades Past The Near Meadows, Over The Still Stream, Up The Hill-side; And Now 'tis Buried Deep In The Next Valley-glades: Was It A Vision, Or A Waking Dream? Fled Is That Music:--do I Wake Or Sleep?

My Imagination Is A Monastery And I Am Its Monk.

Turn The Key Deftly In The Oiled Wards, And Seal The Hushed Casket Of My Soul.