Save only thee and me. I paused-I looked-
And in an instant all things disappeared.
(Ah, bear in mind this garden was enchanted!)
The pearly lustre of the moon went out:
The mossy banks and the meandering paths,
The happy flowers and the repining trees,
Were seen no more: the very roses' odors
Died in the arms of the adoring airs.

All all expired save thee save less than thou:
Save only the divine light in thine eyes -

Save but the soul in thine uplifted eyes.

Saw only them until the moon went down.
What wild heart-histories seemed to lie enwritten
Upon those crystalline, celestial spheres!

How dark a wo! yet how sublime a hope!
How silently serene a sea of pride!
How daring an ambition! yet how deep -
How fathomless a capacity for love!

But now, at length, dear Dian sank from sight,
Into a western couch of thunder-cloud,
And thou, a ghost, amid the entombing trees
Didst glide away. Only thine eyes remained.
They would not go they never yet have gone.
Lighting my lonely pathway home that night,

They have not left me (as my hopes have) since.

They follow me they lead me through the years. They are my ministers - yet I their slave.

Their office is to illumine and enkindle

My duty to be saved by their bright light

And purified in their electric fire

And sanctified in their elysian fire.

They fill my soul with Beauty (which is Hope)
And are far up in Heaven, the stars I kneel to
In the sad, silent watches of my night;
While even in the meridian glare of day
I see them still two sweetly scintillant
Venuses, unextinguished by the sun!

A VALENTINE

To

FOR her these lines are penned, whose luminous eyes,
Brightly expressive as the twins of Loda,
Shall find her own sweet name that, nestling, lies
Upon this page, enwrapped from every reader.
Search narrowly this rhyme, which holds a treasure
Divine a talisman an amulet

That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure;

The words - the letters themselves. Do not forget The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor. And yet there is in this no Gordian knot Which one might not undo without a sabre, If one could merely understand the plot. Enwritten upon this page whereon are peering Such eager eyes, there lies, I say, perdu, A well-known name, oft uttered in the hearing Of poets, by poets; as the name is a poet's, too. Its letters, although naturally lying —

Like the knight Pinto (Mendez Ferdinando) Still form a synonym for truth. Cease trying!

You will not read the riddle though you do the best

you can do.

The moaning and groaning,

The sighing and sobbing,

Are quieted now,

With that horrible throbbing

Have ceased with the fever

That maddened my brain With the fever called "Living"

That burned in my brain.

And oh! of all tortures

That torture the worst

Has abated the terrible
Torture of thirst

For the napthaline river

Of Passion accurst:

I have drank of a water

That quenches all thirst:

And, to sleep, you must slumber In just such a bed.

My tantalized spirit

Here blandly reposes,

Forgetting, or never

Regretting, its roses