There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.
Let us away, my love, with happy speed; There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, - Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead. Awake! arise! my love and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.
Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul.
I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.
Load every rift with ore.
Feeling well that breathed words Would all be lost, unheard, and vain as swords Against the enchased crocodile, or leaps Of grasshoppers against the sun.