[At the Shack by the Lake]
In Heaven a spirit doth dwell
"Whose heart-strings are a lute";
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,
And the giddy stars (so legends tell),
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
Of his voice, all mute.
Tottering above
In her highest noon,
The enamored moon
Blushes with love,
While, to listen, the red levin
(With the rapid Pleiads, even,
Which were seven,)
Pauses in Heaven.
[. . . Well, he's got an excess of coffee and cookies?]
[[Rest of the poem. This is in person, so leave me a note with mental volume if they've never met before. Everyone who visits is safe from Marcy. . . Mostly. :|b]]
"Whose heart-strings are a lute";
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,
And the giddy stars (so legends tell),
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
Of his voice, all mute.
Tottering above
In her highest noon,
The enamored moon
Blushes with love,
While, to listen, the red levin
(With the rapid Pleiads, even,
Which were seven,)
Pauses in Heaven.
[. . . Well, he's got an excess of coffee and cookies?]
[[Rest of the poem. This is in person, so leave me a note with mental volume if they've never met before. Everyone who visits is safe from Marcy. . . Mostly. :|b]]