Till they glance thro' the shade, and Come down to your brow Who calls on you now In violet bowers, To duty beseeming These star-litten hours And shake from your tresses, Encumber'd with dew, The breath of those kisses That cumber them too That lull'd ye to rest! Up!-shake from your wing Each hindering thing: 80 85 90* 93 Each: All (S.M.); thing: things (S. M.). 99 lead: hang (1829, 1831). Incumbent on night (As she on the air) To keep watch with delight On the harmony there? "Ligeia! wherever Thy image may be, No magic shall sever Thy music from thee. Thou hast bound many eyes In a dreamy sleep — But the strains still arise Which thy vigilance keep: The sound of the rain Which leaps down to the flower, In the rhythm of the shower The murmur that springs From the growing of grass Are the music of things But are modell'd, alas! O hie thee away To springs that lie clearest Beneath the moon-ray To lone lake that smiles, In its dream of deep rest, At the many star-isles That enjewel its breast Where wild flowers, creeping, 117 S. M. inserts deep before "dreamy." Spirits in wing, and angels to the view, A thousand seraphs burst th' Empyrean thro', Of Science dims the mirror of our joy To them 't were the Simoom, and would destroy – That Truth is Falsehood -or that Bliss is Woe? with them to die was rife With the last ecstasy of satiate life — १९ to be " 155 160 165 170 Apart from Heaven's Eternity- and yet how far from Hell! What guilty spirit, in what shrubbery dim, tears of perfect moan." He was a goodly spirit he who fell: 175 180 185 190 And scowls on starry worlds that down beneath it lie. Here sate he with his love — his dark eye bent 195 With eagle gaze along the firmament : Now turn'd it upon her—but ever then ९९ Ianthe, dearest, see! how dim that ray! How lovely 't is to look so far away! I should remember well She seemed not thus upon that autumn eve 197 the orb of EARTH: one constant star (1829, 1831). 200 205 And on my eyelids - O the heavy light! - Death, the while, 210 On flowers, before, and mist, and love they ran Awoke that slept — or knew that he was there. "The last spot of Earth's orb I trod upon "My Angelo! and why of them to be? "But, list, Ianthe! when the air so soft 213 he: it (1829, 1831). 215 220 225 230 235 |