Our inmost powers, fresh wing'd, shall soar and dream

In realms of Elysian gleam, whose air light-flowers,

Will ever be, though vague, most fair, most sweet,

Better than memory. - Look yonder, love! What solemn image through the trunks is straying?

And now he doth not move, yet never turns
On us his visage of rapt vacancy !
It is Oblivion. In his hand - though nought
Knows he of this - a dusky purple flower
Droops over its tall stem. Again, ah see!
He wanders into mist, and now is lost.
Within his brain what lovely realms of
death

Are pictur'd, and what knowledge through the doors

Of his forgetfulness of all the earth
A path may gain? Then turn thee, love,

FROM "TORRISMOND"

DREAM-PEDLARY

If there were dreams to sell,
What would you buy?
Some cost a passing bell;
Some a light sigh,

That shakes from Life's fresh crown
Only a rose-leaf down.

If there were dreams to sell,
Merry and sad to tell,
And the crier rung the bell,
What would you buy?

A cottage lone and still,
With bowers nigh,
Shadowy, my woes to still,
Until I die.

Such pearl from Life's fresh crown
Fain would I shake me down.
Were dreams to have at will,
This would best heal my ill,
This would I buy.

But there were dreams to sell
Ill didst thou buy ;
Life is a dream, they tell,
Waking, to die.
Dreaming a dream to prize,
Is wishing ghosts to rise;
And, if I had the spell
To call the buried well,

Which one would I?