Festus, a Poem
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It is sweet to dream we are blest at last with her Who first made pleasure in our nature stir: Though fairer, kinder, since we may have known, That first voluptuous vision sits her throne; StiU, in our sleep, plays o'er young passion's part.
As pleasure's ghost stiU haunts the ruined heart Where lie the buried loves of younger years.
Whose rites and requiems are sighs and tears.
Sleep on, ye living dead, in day! nor rise.
But in night's shadowy shapes and dreamy eyes ; Then let me graft me in y...our breasts again.
And stanch my bosom of its tearing pain.
Oh! fade not — stir not — hold me till I die, In the desire of what I most possess ; For I would die, as I have lived, in love; To dream of happiness, is happmess : And be it but a dream; these very dreams Are elements of immortality ; As mind on earth almightily beseems, And body but an impotent reality.
But dearer than the kiss, and than the dream.
Than busy bliss, or than remembered love.
It is to feel we shall be deathless here, — That earth wiU speak of us when gone above.
What to read after Festus, a Poem?
You can find similar books in the "Read Also" column, or choose other free books by Bailey, Philip James, 1816-1902. [from Old Catalog] to read onlineMoreLess
To quickly assess the difficulty of the text, read a short excerpt:
It is sweet to dream we are blest at last with her Who first made pleasure in our nature stir: Though fairer, kinder, since we may have known, That first voluptuous vision sits her throne; StiU, in our sleep, plays o'er young passion's part.
As pleasure's ghost stiU haunts the ruined heart Where lie the buried loves of younger years.
Whose rites and requiems are sighs and tears.
Sleep on, ye living dead, in day! nor rise.
But in night's shadowy shapes and dreamy eyes ; Then let me graft me in y...our breasts again.
And stanch my bosom of its tearing pain.
Oh! fade not — stir not — hold me till I die, In the desire of what I most possess ; For I would die, as I have lived, in love; To dream of happiness, is happmess : And be it but a dream; these very dreams Are elements of immortality ; As mind on earth almightily beseems, And body but an impotent reality.
But dearer than the kiss, and than the dream.
Than busy bliss, or than remembered love.
It is to feel we shall be deathless here, — That earth wiU speak of us when gone above.
What to read after Festus, a Poem?
You can find similar books in the "Read Also" column, or choose other free books by Bailey, Philip James, 1816-1902. [from Old Catalog] to read onlineMoreLess
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