Her sweet Weight on my Heart a Night

Had scarcely deigned to lie —

When, stirring, for Belief's delight,

My Bride had slipped away —


If 'twas a Dream — made solid — just

The Heaven to confirm —

Or if...

Poet:

His Heart was darker than the starless night

For that there is a morn

But in this black Receptacle

Can be no Bode of Dawn

Poet: