ΤΟ I. WHEN passion's trance is overpast, II. It were enough to feel, to see, Thy soft eyes gazing tenderly, And dream the rest and burn and be The secret food of fires unseen, Couldst thou but be as thou hast been. III. After the slumber of the year The woodland violets re-appear, All things revive in field or grove, GINEVRA. WILD, pale, and wonder-stricken, even as one Of objects and of persons past like things The vows to which her lips had sworn assent And so she moved under the bridal veil, Which made the paleness of her cheek more pale, And deepened the faint crimson of her mouth, And darkened her dark locks, as moonlight doth, And of the gold and jewels glittering there She scarce felt conscious, but the weary glare Lay like a chaos of unwelcome light, Vexing the sense with gorgeous undelight. A moonbeam in the shadow of a cloud Was less heavenly fair — her face was bowed, The bride-maidens who round her thronging came, Some with a sense of self-rebuke and shame, Envying the unenviable; and others Making the joy which should have been another's Their own by gentle sympathy; and some Maidens to leave the heaven serene and pure But they are all dispersed and, lo! she stands Alone within the garden now her own; -- Killing the azure silence, sinks and swells ; — A mockery of itself—when suddenly And said- "Is this thy faith?" and then as one With light like a harsh voice, which bids him rise Which weep in vain that they can dream no more, To shriek or faint, and checked the stifling blood Of parents, chance, or custom, time or change, Or wildered looks, or words, or evil speech, With all their stings and venom can impeach we love not: if the grave which hides The victim from the tyrant, and divides The cheek that whitens from the eyes that dart That is another's, could dissever ours, We love not." "What! do not the silent hours - Beckon thee to Gherardi's bridal bed? Is not that ring" a pledge, he would have said, |