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The winds', the birds', the crean-floods' —
I see the deep's untrampled floor
Arises from its measured motion-
Alas! I have nor hope nor health,
Smiling they live, and call life pleasure ;
Yet now despair itself is mild
P. B. Shelley
My days among the Dead are past ;
THE MERMAID TAVERN
Or are fruits of Paradise
I have heard that on a day
Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern ?
“The glowworm o'er grave and stone
Shall light thee steady ; The owl from the steeple sing Welcome, proud lady.'
Sir W. Scott
THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS
One more Unfortunate
Loop up her tresses
Who was her father ?
Alas ! for the rarity
Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly Feelings had changed : Love, by harsh evidence, Thrown from its eminence; Even God's providence Seeming estranged. Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement, She stood with amazement, Houseless by night.
The bleak wind of March