MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Yet wherefore thus perversely run To boded ill from present ple?s. ure ? I know not why; but lives there on.e, Who binds his life in one rich treasure, Whom the wild thought has never crost, "What should I feel, were this but lost?" Should he now wake, and see my face So chang'd by passions, fiercely blending, Would he not deem, that in my place Some fiend was o'er his pillow bending ? I speak too loud--he seems disturb'd-- My wild emotion must be curb'd. Hark, his lips move; and gently frame, In dreamy slumber, words half-broken. Ah, was not that?--it/s my name, Which by those cherub lips is spoken ! I feel a thrill of vivid joy, To know that I his thoughts employ. He fear'd, that, ere his eyes could close, A weary vigil mine should number, Dear innocent ! he little knows How quickly youth shakes hands with slumber Ev'n ere my voice had soften'd, thou Wert in oblivion, deep as now. ......... ?Google
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