202
A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN.
lxviii.
Who kneeling, with one arm about her king,
Drew forth the poison with her balmy breath,
Sweet as new buds in Spring.
lxix.
Gold-mines of thought to lift the hidden ore
That glimpses, moving up, than I from sleep
To gather and tell o'er
lxx.
Compass'd, how eagerly I sought to strike
Into that wondrous track of dreams again!
But no two dreams are like.
lxxi.
Desiring what is mingled with past years,
In yearnings that can never be exprest
By signs or groans or tears;