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.

From "Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allen Poe" 1830