My Cardiovascular Aches, and a Drowsy Numbness Pains My Perception, as Though of Hemlock I had formed Drunk, or perhaps Emptied A few Dull Opiate to the Canal One...

My Heart Pains, and a Drowsy Numbness Pains My own Sense, as if of Hemlock I Had Drunk, or Purged Some Uninteresting Opiate for the Drains About a minute Past, and Lethe-Wards Experienced Sunk: 'Tis Not Through Envy of Thy Completely happy Lot,

My center aches, and a drowsy numbness aches and pains

My feeling, as though of hemlock I had formed drunk,

Or emptied several dull opiate to the drains

One minute previous, and Lethe-wards had sunk:

'Tis certainly not through covet of thy happy whole lot,

But getting too happy in thy happiness, —-

That thou, light-winged Dryad of the woods,

In some melodious plot

Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

Singest of summer season in full-throated ease.

To for a poem of classic, that hath been

Cooled down a long grow older in the deep-delved earth,

Tasting of Bacteria and the nation green,

Party, and Provencal song, and sun-burnt mirth!

O for any beaker filled with the warm South,

Packed with the true, the blushful Hippocrene,

With handmade bubbles winking at the top,

And purple-stained mouth;

I might beverage, and leave the world hidden,

And with thee fade into the forest dim:

Reduce far away, dissolve, and quite forget

What thou among the leaves hast never regarded,

The weariness, the fever, and the worry

Here, where men sit and listen to each other groan;

Where palsy shakes a number of, sad, previous gray fur,

Where youth grows paler, and spectre-thin, and dead;

Where but for think shall be full of misery, woe, anguish

And leaden-eyed despairs;

Exactly where beauty are unable to keep her lustrous eye,

Or new love pine at all of them beyond another day.

Away! apart! for I will fly to thee,

Certainly not charioted by simply Bacchus and his pards,

Nevertheless on the viewless wings of Poesy,

Although dull brain perplexes and retards:

Currently with thee! tender is a night,

And haply the Queen-Moon is usually on her tub,

Clustered about by most her starry fays;

But here there is no light,

Preserve what from heaven is by using the sea breezes blown

Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.

I cannot observe what bouquets are at my personal feet,

Neither what soft incense weighs upon the boughs,...