Isawtheeonceonceonlyyearsago：
Imustnotsayhowmanybutnotmany。
ItwasaJulymidnight；andfromoutAfull-orbedmoon，that，likethineownsoul，soaring，Soughtaprecipitatepathwayupthroughheaven，Therefellasilvery-silkenveiloflight，Withquietude，andsultriness，andslumber，UpontheupturnedfacesofathousandRosesthatgrewinanenchantedgarden，Wherenowinddaredtostir，unlessontiptoe
Fellontheupturn’dfacesoftheserosesThatgaveout，inreturnforthelove-light，Theirodoroussoulsinanecstaticdeath
Fellontheupturn’dfacesoftheserosesThatsmiledanddiedinthisparterre，enchantedBythee，andbythepoetryofthypresence。