107. Sonnet Vi WHERE the red wine-cup floweth, there art thou!
Where luxury curtains out the evening sky;-- Triumphant Mirth sits flush'd upon thy brow,
108. The Name THY name was once the magic spell, by which my thoughts were bound,
And burning dreams of light and love were wakened by that sound; My heart beat quick when stranger tongues, with idle praise or blame,
109. Love Not LOVE not, love not! ye hapless sons of clay!
Hopeâ??s gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowersâ?? Things that are made to fade and fall away
110. Ifs OH! if the winds could whisper what they hear,
When murmuring round at sunset through the grove;If words were written on the streamlet clear,