The Nightingale upon the Rose's breast
Warbling her tale of life-long sorrow lies,
Till in love's tranced ecstasy her eyes
Close and her throbbing heart is set at rest;
For, to the yielding flow'r her bosom prest,
Death steals upon her in the sweet disguise
Of crowned love and brings what life denies,--
mingling of the souls,--Love's eager quest!

Thus let my heart against thy heart repose,
Sigh forth its life in one delicious sigh,
Then drink new life from out thy balmy breath;
Thus in love's languor let our eyelids close,
And let our blended souls enchanted lie,
And dream of joy beyond the gates of death.