Page:Poems Terry, 1861.djvu/117

    Dropt from the sky;
   With the sounds of love and fear,
   All voices sad and dear
   Banish to silence drear,
The willing thrall of trances sweet I lie.

   Some melancholy gale
   Breathes its mysterious tale,
   Till the rose's lips grow pale
    With her sighs:
   And o'er my thoughts are cast
   Tints of the vanished past,
   Glories that faded fast,
Renewed to splendour in my dreaming eyes.

   As poised on vibrant wings,
   Where his sweet treasure swings,
   The honey-lover clings
    To the red flowers:
   So, lost in vivid light,
   So, rapt from day and night,
   I linger in delight,
Enraptured o'er the vision-freighted hours.