Dreams, that elude the Makers frenzied grasp —

Hands, star and still, on a dead Mother s breast. Which nevermore shall render clasp for clasp, Or deftly soothe a weeping Child to rest — In suchlie forms me listeth to portray My Tale, here ended. Thou delicious Fay — The guardian of a Sprite that lives to tease thee — Loving in earnest, chiding but in play The merry mocing Bruno! Who, that sees thee. Can fail to love thee. Darling, even as I? — My sweetest Sylvie, we must say Good-bye!"