"From whence it comes, you ask, this gloom acute,
Like waves that o'er the rocky headland fall?"
--When once our hearts have gathered in their fruit,
To live is a curse! a secret known to all,
A grief, quite simple, nought mysterious,
And like your joy--for all, both loud and shrill,
Nay cease to clamour, be not e'er so curious!
And yet although your voice is sweet, be still!
Be still, O soul, with rapture ever rife!
O mouth, with the childish smile! Far more than Life,
The subtle bonds of Death around us twine.
Let--let my heart, the wine of falsehood drink,
And dream-like, deep within your fair eyes sink,
And in the shade of thy lashes long recline!