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ADONIS
In your calm my senses steep;
Close mine eyes, from tears grown dim;
Give me sleep—I ask but sleep—
In the grave, with him.
Can it be that flowers will spring
Where all lifeless love shall lie?
Can it be that birds will sing,
Though Adonis die?
Never earthly bloom, I wis,
With his beauty could compare;
Never voice was sweet as his
Who lieth there;
And, thou blue Idalian sky,
Thou didst smile upon our lot,
And I knew my love must die,—
But believed it not!
Whither now to take my way?
If I seek on mountains bare,
Or in caverns hid from day,—
Shall I find him there?
Will the rivers give him back,
Or the woods of Adon tell?
