Oran

Tell me, my Mabel, if within this sleep, To which mine art oft leads thee, there should come Some angel bright with Heaven's reflected light, Wooing thee upward with the songs of bliss,— Tell me, my Mabel, wouldst thou freely go, Leaving this fair earth-vesture only here, Leaving me lornly gazing on the sky, Blotting its sun out with my blinding tears?