That soft white neck, that cheek in beauty warm,
And brow half hidden where yon ringlet lies:
With, oh! the blissful knowledge all the while
That I can lift at will each curvèd lid,
And my fair dream most highly realize.
The time will come,'tis ushered by my sighs,
When I may shape the dark, but vainly bid
True light restore that form, those looks, that smile."
"The garden trees are busy with the shower
That fell ere sunset: now methinks they talk,