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WOULD that some impassioned language
In the rich sonorous tongue
In which Dante and Ariosto
Their melodious measures sung,
Could convey the nameless longing
With a shape so undefined,
Wafted like a cloud at sunset
O'er the mirror of my mind;
Could convey the warmth and coloring
Of this wish so hazed in clouds;
Could but paint the dreamy darkness
Which its fragile outline shrouds;
Could but tell the gentle rapture
Of the mind's inquiring gaze
In the mellow mystic sunset
With its vapory, golden haze;
Could but tell the joy, yet sadness,
In this aimless wistfulness.
How can such a world of sorrow
Give me such a wealth of bliss!
Shall I seek in realms of reason
For the answer to my prayer?
No, for 'neath the lens of reason
Poets' visions fade in air.
May be in a passing fancy,
In the glances of an eye,
All these sweet, these blissful longings,
All these golden visions lie.
Z.
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