No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twistWolf’s-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss’dBy nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;Make not your rosary of yew-berries,Nor let the beetle, nor the…
Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness,Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,Sylvan historian, who canst thus expressA flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:What leaf-fring’d legend haunts about thy shapeOf deities or mortals, or of…
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:‘Tis not through envy of…