A NIGHT-PIECE.
Once at night I paced my garden, seeking—but I sought in vain—
From the perfume of the roses balsam for my burning brain;
For through all that dusk the circle of a single damask bloom
Shone more brightly than the cresset on a true believer’s tomb;
And so haughty in the splendour of her beauty burned this rose,
That she banished from the bosom of the nightingale repose,
While the eyes of sad narcissus floated o’er with loving tears,
And the tulip bared her bosom wounded by a thousand spears.
Vainly then the lily offered to console the poet’s care,