BURIED.
In the mystic realm of reason,
Hidden from the critic's vision,
In the vernal vale elysian,
Where our cherished fancies throng,
Close beside affection's river,
Flowing from the heart forever,
Lie the tombs of thoughts that never
Can be woven into song.
Hidden from the critic's vision,
In the vernal vale elysian,
Where our cherished fancies throng,
Close beside affection's river,
Flowing from the heart forever,
Lie the tombs of thoughts that never
Can be woven into song.
In the moonlight, sad and solemn,
Lighting up each broken column,
'Neath the willow branches fallen,
Dipping in the surging stream.
Elegy and allegory,
Who can read the secret story,
In the pensive moonlight glory,
Like the measures of a dream?
Lighting up each broken column,
'Neath the willow branches fallen,
Dipping in the surging stream.
Elegy and allegory,
Who can read the secret story,
In the pensive moonlight glory,
Like the measures of a dream?
All alone within the glistening
Of the slanting starlight, listening
For the cold shroud garments rustling
Of some silent sleeper there.
All alone, no fellow mortal
Ever passed that guarded portal;
Hush! No human sound shall startle
One from out its sepulcher.
Of the slanting starlight, listening
For the cold shroud garments rustling
Of some silent sleeper there.
All alone, no fellow mortal
Ever passed that guarded portal;
Hush! No human sound shall startle
One from out its sepulcher.
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