O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been Alone on a wide wide sea: 600 He went like one that hath been stunned, And is of sense forlorn: LOVE [Publ. 1798] ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruined tower. The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, O sweeter than the marriage- And she was there, my hope, my joy, feast, My own dear Genevieve! She leant against the arméd man, The statue of the arméd knight; She stood and listened to my lay, Amid the lingering light. Few sorrows hath she of her own, My hope! my joy! my Genevieve ! She loves me best whene'er I sing I The songs that make her grieve. I played a soft and doleful air, She listened with a flitting blush, I told her of the Knight that wore I told her how he pined: and ah! Interpreted my own. ΤΟ 20 30 |