Close up the casement, draw the blind,
Shut out the stealing moon,
She wears too much the guise she wore
Before our lutes were strewn
With years-deep dust , and names we read
On a white stone were hewn.
Brush not the bough for midnight scents
That come forth lingeringly,
And wake the same sweet sentiments
They breathed to you and me
When living seemed a laugh, and love
All it was said to be.
Within the common lamp-lit room
Prison my eyes and thaught;
Let dingy details crudely loom,
Mechanic speech be wrought:
Too fragrant was life's early bloom,
Too tart the fruit it brought !
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