With beating heart and streaming eyes, even now
I call the phantoms of a thousand hours
Each from his voiceless grave: they have in visioned bowers
Of studious zeal or love's delight Outwatched with me the envious night - They know that never joy illumed my brow Unlinked with hope that thou wouldst free This world from its dark slavery,
That thou O awful LOVELINESS, Wouldst give whate'er these words cannot express.
The day becomes more solemn and serene When noon is past - there is a harmony In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,
Which thro' the summer is not heard or seen, As if it could not be, as if it had not been !
Thus let thy power, which like the truth Of nature on my passive youth
Descended, to my onward life supply
Its calm to one who worships thee, And every form containing thee, Whom, SPIRIT fair, thy spells did bind To fear himself, and love all human kind.
THERE late was One within whose subtle being, As light and wind within some delicate cloud That fades amid the blue noon's burning sky, Genius and death contended. None may know The sweetness of the joy which made his breath Fail, like the trances of the summer air, When, with the Lady of his love, who then First knew the unreserve of mingled being, He walked along the pathway of a field Which to the east a hoar wood shadowed o'er, But to the west was open to the sky.
There now the sun had sunk, but lines of gold Hung on the ashen clouds, and on the points Of the far level grass and nodding flowers And the old dandelion's hoary beard, And, mingled with the shades of twilight, lay On the brown massy woods—and in the east The broad and burning moon lingeringly rose Between the black trunks of the crowded trees, While the faint stars were gathering overhead. "Is it not strange, Isabel," said the youth,
"I never saw the sun-rise?
To-morrow; thou shalt look on it with me."
That night the youth and lady mingled lay In love and sleep - but when the morning came The lady found her lover dead and cold.
Let none believe that God in mercy gave
That stroke. The lady died not, nor grew wild, But year by year lived on in truth I think Her gentleness and patience and sad smiles, And that she did not die, but lived to tend Her agèd father, were a kind of madness, If madness 'tis to be unlike the world.
For but to see her were to read the tale
Woven by some subtlest bard, to make hard hearts Dissolve away in wisdom-working grief; —
Her eyelashes were worn away with tears, Her lips and cheeks were like things dead
Her hands were thin, and through their wandering veins
And weak articulations might be seen
Day's ruddy light. The tomb of thy dead self Which one vexed ghost inhabits, night and day, Is all, lost child, that now remains of thee!
"Inheritor of more than earth can give, Passionless calm and silence unreproved,
Whether the dead find, oh, not sleep! but rest, And are the uncomplaining things they seem, Or live, or drop in the deep sea of Love; Oh, that like thine, mine epitaph were This was the only moan she ever made.
[See a note on this poem, at the end of the volume.]
A PALE dream came to a Lady fair, And said, A boon, a boon, I pray ! I know the secrets of the air,
And things are lost in the glare of day, Which I can make the sleeping see, If they will put their trust in me.
And thou shalt know of things unknown, If thou wilt let me rest between
The veiny lids, whose fringe is thrown
Over thine eyes so dark and sheen : And half in hope, and half in fright, The Lady closed her eyes so bright.
At first all deadly shapes were driven Tumultuously across her sleep,
And o'er the vast cope of bending heaven All ghastly-visaged clouds did sweep; And the Lady ever looked to spy
If the golden sun shone forth on high.
And as towards the east she turned, She saw aloft in the morning air, Which now with hues of sunrise burned, A great black Anchor rising there; And wherever the Lady turned her eyes, It hung before her in the skies.
The sky was blue as the summer sea, The depths were cloudless over head,
The air was calm as it could be,
There was no sight or sound of dread, But that black Anchor floating still Over the piny eastern hill.
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