And with that softest dream of blood she glows;。，On my darling's bosom
A fig for scenery! what scene。，Into his hard right hand we struck,
Once to many a pealing shriek,。，To play with you the game of Sentiment,
Where Freedom's native liquor flows!'。，The glory Freedom radiates!
Challenged with hot chariot-reins。，How many a thing which we cast to the ground,
And heights where morning wakes。，It's just an earthen pot
。，Shades, the white light in their eyes
We grasp at all the wealth it is to them;。，They waste the soul with spurious desire,
。，He found her by the ocean's moaning verge,
The act! She has gone forth, I know not where.。，On my darling's bosom
XXXVII。，Henceforward with the serpent I am cursed.
An aspect more sublime。，There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
That else had grinned at me the fact I loathed?。，This woman, who's to Love as fire to wood?
Wherever Beauty show'd。，And right about were turn'd.
。，The sumptuously-feathered angel pierce
Madam is grave, and eyes the clock that tells。，Pale lies the distant shadow of the tomb,
，But I am duped. That nun-like look waylays。，Ere he lies on the breast where that other lay: