To..A Poem By Edgar Allan Poe
The bowers whereat, in dreams, I
see
The wantonest singing
birds
Are lips-and all thy
melody
Thine eyes, Heaven of heart
enshrined
Then desolately fall,
O God! on my funereal
mind
Like starlight on a
pall-
Thy heart--thy heart!--I wake
and sigh,
And sleep to dream till
day
Of the truth that gold can never
buy--
Of the baubles that it
may.
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