Veronica. COME then, a song; a winding gentle song, 
To lead me into sleep. Let it be low 
As zephyr, telling secrets to his rose, 
For I would hear the murmuring of my thoughts; 
And more of voice than of that other music 
That grows around the strings of quivering lutes; 
But most of thought; for with my mind I listen, 
And when the leaves of sound are shed upon it, 
If there ?s no seed remembrance grows not there. 
So life, so death; a song, and then a dream!
Begin before another dewdrop fall 
From the soft hold of these disturbed flowers, 
For sleep is filling up my senses fast, 
And from these words I sink. 
 
 SONG

How many times do I love thee, dear? 
 Tell me how many thoughts there be 
 In the atmosphere 
 Of a new-fall?n year, 
Whose white and sable hours appear 
 The latest flake of Eternity: 
So many times do I love thee, dear. 
 
How many times do I love again? 
 Tell me how many beads there are 
 In a silver chain 
 Of evening rain,
Unravell?d from the tumbling main, 
 And threading the eye of a yellow star: 
So many times do I love again. 
 
 Elvira. She sees no longer: leave her then alone, 
Encompass?d by this round and moony night.
A rose-leaf for thy lips, and then goodnight: 
 So life, so death; a song, and then a dream!