Edgar Allan Poe

To ---

The bowers whereat, in dreams, I see
The wantonest singing birds,
Are lips -- and all thy melody
Of lip-begotten words;

Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrined,
Then desolately fall,
O God! on my funereal mind
Like starlight on a pall;

Thy heart -- thy heart! -- I wake and sigh,
And sleep to dream till day
Of the truth that gold can never buy
Of the baubles that it may.

spoken = George McRae