"In an instant she frightens me in
"With some phantom of prudence or terror,
"For fear I should stray into sin,
"Or, what is still worse, into error!
"So, instead of displaying my graces,
"By daylight, in language and mien,
"I am shut up in corners and places,
"Where truly I blush to be seen!"
Upon hearing this piteous confession,
My Soul, looking tenderly at her,
Declared, as for grace and discretion,
He did not know much of the matter;
"But, to-morrow, sweet Spirit!" he said,
"Be at home, after midnight, and then
"I will come when your lady's in bed,
"And we'll talk o'er the subject again."
So she whispered a word in his ear,
I suppose to her door to direct him,
And, just after midnight, my dear,
Your polite little Soul may expect him.
TO ROSA.
WRITTEN DURING ILLNESS.
The wisest soul, by anguish torn,
Will soon unlearn the lore it knew;
And when the shrining casket's worn,
The gem within will tarnish too.
But love's an essence of the soul,
Which sinks hot with this chain of clay;
Which throbs beyond the chill control
Of withering pain or pale decay.
And surely, when the touch of Death
Dissolves the spirit's earthly ties,
Love still attends the immortal breath,
And makes it purer for the skies!