To mar the stillness of that Angel-Home;—
There should thy slumbers be
Weighed down with honey-dew, serenely blessed,
Like theirs who first in Eden's Grove took rest
Under some balmy tree.
Love, Love! thou passionate in Joy and Woe!
And canst thou hope for cloudless peace below—
Here, where bright things must die?
Oh, thou! that wildly worshipping, dost shed
On the frail altar of a mortal head