Bliss

Thoughts that have slept in darkness, vanish now;
Ye have too long o'ershadow'd my sad brow;
And I am summoned to that golden hour,
When bliss, not sorrow, wields its mighty power.

A brighter vision beams upon mine eyes,
With dreams of thee and thy sweet courtesies;
And kiss-returning kisses—odorous words,
And all the smiles and sweets that love affords.

The radiance bursting from thine orbs of day,
The dimpled graces near thy lips which play;
They have possessed my spirit—waked a fire
That burns and brightens, and can ne'er expire.

A fair pearl floating in my vision seems—
Is it a dream?—Then life has nought but dreams.
Is she not mine? Am I not hers? Then thought,
Sense, suffering, pain, and pleasure—all are nought.

Call honey, bitter—I will not mistrust;
Call justice, knavery—I will still be just:
Say all that glitters is not gold—'tis true;
That hearts are morbid—and I'll say so too.