To..A Poem By Edgar Allan Poe

The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see
The wantonest singing birds
Are lips-and all thy melody
Thine eyes, Heaven of heart enshrined
Then desolately fall,
O God! on my funereal mind
Like starlight on a pall-
Thy heart--thy heart!--I wake and sigh,
And sleep to dream till day
Of the truth that gold can never buy--
Of the baubles that it may.

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