Classic Poem

Severed from thee, like one entombed I lie;
No sounds of vernal winds my senses greet;
No skylark's song, no balm of odours sweet
Nor beam of morning sun can life supply.
When living men in slumbers seem to die,
When rise the dead from out the tomb's retreat,
O'er gulfs, o'er heights careers my spirit fleet
Which, whilst I wake, approach to thee deny.
Then to forbidden Paradise I come,
Thro' gates I pass whose bars did erst repel,
Yea! e'en to beauty's silent sanctuary!
Doth ghostly breath affright thee, tender bloom?
'Tis love's soft sigh that breathes on thee—farewell!
The cock crows shrill—to seek my grave I fly.