The many-fingered birds of trees fall, lie
On ground that's bright with fellows of their own...

Glittering and twinkling in
the night...

His tender peace doth warm my soul,
It cheers the blackest heart...

That once I loved I now despise,
A girl with rapture in her eyes...

Would you sleep upon a carpet gold,
Or rest amongest the dead of old...

To melt within the world of books,
Is all that I desire...

A pain too deep,
A death too fresh...

I fear I may have been too free,
With my emotions, carelessly...