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

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

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

Glittering and twinkling in
the night...

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

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

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

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