UNFELT unheard, unseen,
     I’ve left my little queen,
Her languid arms in silver slumber lying:
     Ah! through their nestling touch,
     Who—-who could tell how much
There is for madness—-cruel, or complying?
 
     Those faery lids how sleek!
     Those lips how moist!—-they speak,
In ripest quiet, shadows of sweet sounds:
     Into my fancy’s ear
     Melting a burden dear,
How “Love doth know no fulness, nor no bounds.”
 
     True!—-tender monitors!
     I bend unto your laws:
This sweetest day for dalliance was born!
     So, without more ado,
     I’ll feel my heaven anew,
For all the blushing of the hasty morn.
 
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