And dances again

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!

Away, then my dearest,

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,

Have mingled their shade,

On its margin is sleeping

Full many a maid

Some have left the cool glade, and

Have slept with the bee

Arouse them my maiden,

On moorland and lea

Go! breathe on their slumber,

All softly in ear,

The musical number

They slumber'd to hear

For what can awaken

An angel so soon

Whose sleep hath been taken

Beneath the cold moon,

As the spell which no clumber

Of witchery may test,

The rhythmical number

Which lull'd him to rest?"

Spirits in wing, and angels to the view,

A thousand seraphs burst th' Empyrean thro',

Young dreams still hovering on their drowsy flight

Seraphs in all but "Knowledge", the keen light

That fell, refracted, thro' thy bounds, afar

O Death! from eye of God upon that star:

Sweet was that error - sweeter still that death

Sweet was that error - ev'n with us the breath

Of Science dims the mirror of our joy

To them 'twere the Simoon, and would destroy

For what (to them) availeth it to know

That Truth is Falsehood - or that Bliss is Woe?

Sweet was their death - with them to die was rife

With the last ecstasy of satiate life

Beyond that death no immortality

But sleep that pondereth and is not "to be"

And there - oh! may my weary spirit dwell