TO ADHEMAR.

———

BY E. ANNA LEWIS.

———

I think of thee till all is dim confusion,

And reason reels upon her fragile throne—

The past and present blend in strange illusion;

Thoughts, feelings, all commingle into one,

As streams and rills into the ocean run;

And my pale cheeks are drenched with a suffusion

Of drops upheaved from lava-founts of wo;

And while these burning tides my lids o’erflow,

Impassioned Fancy to thy presence hies,

And suns her in the radiance of thine eyes—

At the pure well-spring of thy bosom sips,

And feeds upon the nectar of thy lips;

Then back, with gathered sweets, returns to me,

As homeward comes at eve the honey-freighted bee.