Unfelt, unheard, unseen

Unfelt, unheard, unseen,

I've left my little queen,

Her languid arms in silver slumber lying:

Ah! through their nestling touch,

Who — who could tell how much

There is for madness — cruel, or complying?

Those faery lids how sleek!

Those lips how moist! — they speak,

In ripest quiet, shadows of sweet sounds:

Into my fancy's ear

Melting a burden dear,

How Love doth know no fulness, and no bounds.

True — tender monitors!

I bend unto your laws:

This sweetest day for dalliance was born!

So, without more ado,

I'll feel my heaven anew,

For all the blushing of the hasty morn.