Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/838

 And O! of all tortures That torture the worst Has abated—the terrible Torture of thirst For the naphthaline river Of Passion accurst— I have drunk of a water That quenches all thirst.

—Of a water that flows, With a lullaby sound, From a spring but a very few Feet under ground— From a cavern not very far Down under ground.

And ah! let it never Be foolishly said That my room it is gloomy, And narrow my bed; For man never slept In a different bed— And, to sleep, you must slumber In just such a bed.

My tantalized spirit Here blandly reposes, Forgetting, or never Regretting its roses— Its old agitations Of myrtles and roses:

For now, while so quietly Lying, it fancies