THE SINGER.

While with Ambition's hectic flame

He wastes the midnight oil,

And dreams, high-throned on heights of fame,

To rest him from his toil,--

Death's Angel, like a vast eclipse,

Above him spreads her wings,

And fans the embers of his lips

To ashes as he sings.

Green Fields and Running Brooks, and Other Poems · 第 50 / 151 题