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my sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk
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or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
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one minute past, and lethe- wards had sunk
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tis not through envy of thy happy lot
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but being too happy in thine happiness
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that thou, light- winged dryad of the trees
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in some melodious plot of beechen green, and shadows numberless
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singest of summer in full- throated ease
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darkling I listen,
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and, for many a time
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I have been half in love with easeful death
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called him soft names in many a mused rhyme