Page:Sibylline Leaves (Coleridge).djvu/141



thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour, When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruin'd tower.

The Moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve; And she was there, my hope, my joy. My own dear Genevieve!

She leant against the armed man. The statue of the armed knight; She stood and listen'd to my lay, Amid the lingering light. Errata