[Another shot. And yes I should be doing my ELPC memo right now. But it's my birthday. I'm allowed a few moments of ridiculousness.]

Pensive Sara on The Eolian Harp:
My fanciful Sam! thy rough arm align'd
Thus with my cheek, most disconcerting 'tis
To sprawl beside our cot, our cot o'er grown
Through your neglecting Dreams, and poet's Scribblings,
(Meet emblems they of your forgetful Love!)
And watch the skies, that late were rich with clouds,
Grow raindrops round, and mark the chilling wind
Hungrily knawing (such should Knowledge be)
Our very bones! How piercing the scents
Snatch’d from yon compost ! and ourselves so hush’d !
The distant closeness of your absent touch
Tells me of silence.
And that simplest Lute
Wedg’d length-long in the clutching casement, hark !
How by the indifferent wind harass’d
Like some poor maid half-ravaged by a scoundrel,
It shrieks such heart broke sobbing, as must needs
Grant more pity to the wrong ! And now, its strings
Rougher struck, the long lamenting tones,
Over dolorous surges sink and rise
As new-made Slaves make, when they at eve
Voyage in iron chains to strange new lands,
Where Dignity in white cotton fields,
Footless and wild, like birds of Mockery,
Nor pause, nor perch, hovering on bruis’d wing!
O ! the separate Life within us and abroad
Which prevents recognition of kindred soul,
A light unseen, a blindness out of night,
False Truth in all thought, and hypocrisy there –
Methinks, it should have been impossible
Not to love all things in the world, but still
Where we walk unseen, at least as persons,
Is Justice slumbering on her instrument.