The rose, still virgin, holds herself withdrawn
From the winged, irised wasp with love possessed.
Hark, all is hashed. Now of thy sweetheart dream ;
To-day the snnset, with a lingering beam,
Caressed the dusky-f oliaged linden-grove.
All things shall bloom to-night; great Nature thrills,
Her couch with perfume, passion, sighs, she fills,
like to the nuptial bed of youthful love.

Why throbs my heart so fast, so low ?
What sets my seething blood aglow.
And fills my sense with vague affright ?
Who raps upon my chamber-door ?
My lamp's spent ray upon the floor,
Why does it dazzle me with light ?
Great God ! my limbs sink under me !
Who enters ? who is calling ? none !
The clock strikes — I am all alone —
O solitude ! poverty !

My poet, take thy lyre. Youth's living wine
Ferments to-night within the veins divine.
My breast is troubled, stifling with desire,
The panting breeze has set my lips afire ;
O listless child, behold me, I am fair !