ROMANCE. OMANCE, who loves to nod and sing, Hath been-a most familiar bird- To lisp my very earliest word While in the wild wood I did lie, A child-with a most knowing eye. Of late, eternal Condor years So shake the very heaven on high With tumult as they thunder by, I have no time for idle cares Through gazing on the unquiet sky. And when an hour with calmer wings Its down upon my spirit flings- That little time with lyre and rhyme To while away-forbidden things! My heart would feel to be a crime Unless it trembled with the strings. FAIRY-LAND. DIM vales-and shadowy floods— Whose forms we can't discover For the tears that drip all over Huge moons there wax and wane— Again-again-again— Every moment of the night For ever changing places— And they put out the star-light With the breath from their pale faces. About twelve by the moon-dial One more filmy than the rest |