LXXIX.

Slowly she oped her silken-lidded eyes,

As night steals from the virgin blue of morn,

Gazing on him she loved, in sweet surprise,

Thus tenderly within his bosom borne;

Whilst clouded Memory through old time flies,

Sinking where she from that dear breast was torn.

Ah! blessed future never snatch her thence,

But sun the visions of her innocence.

Eidolon; or, The Course of a Soul; and Other Poems · 第 134 / 176 题