Maurice

I fain would think that study hath o'erwrought Your heated brain to this short fever fit, That soon may pass and leave your vision clear. In truth, I note strange changes in your mien— A wandering glance, quick, restless eagerness, Rapt snatches of deep thought, wherein the mind Seems cleaving heaven with wild extatic wings: Your cheeks are pale, and all your nervous frame Thrills 'neath some strange enthusiastic touch. Lay by your books awhile, and breathe again, As in those days gone by, the country air, The sweet, calm country air, where perfume floats Like love that finds no heart so godlike large Can clasp it wholly in its one embrace, But overflows creation with its bliss. Thus shall you quickly exorcise this madness, And cleanse your brain of these pernicious dreams.