Chapter XVII

Ah, with the smoke what smouldering desires Waft to the starlight up the swirling flue! -- Thoughts that may never, as the swallows do, Nest circling homeward to their native fires! Ardors the soul suspires The extinct stars drink with the dreamer's breath; The morning-song of Eden's early choirs Grows dim with Adam; close at the ear of death Relentless angels tune our earthly lyres!