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。

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