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Its leaves which had outlived the frost, the thaw

Had blighted as a heart which hatred's eye Can blast not, but which pity kills; the dew Lay on its spotted leaves like tears too true.


The Heavens had wept upon it, but the Earth

Had crushed it on her unmaternal breast. *******


I bore it to my chamber, and I planted
It in a vase full of the lightest mould;

The winter beams which out of Heaven slanted
Fell through the window panes, disrobed of cold

Upon its leaves and flowers; the star which panted In evening for the Day, whose car has rolled

Over the horizon's wave, with looks of light

Smiled on it from the threshold of the night.


The mitigated inUuences of air

And light revived the plant, and from it grew Strong leaves and tendrils, and its flowers fair,

Full as a cup with the vine's burning dew, O'erflowed with golden colours; an atmosphere

Of vital warmth infolded it anew, And every impulse sent to every part The unbeheld pulsations of its heart.


Well might the plant grow beautiful and strong,
Even if the sun and air had smiled not on it;

For one wept o'er it all the winter long

Tears pure as Heaven's rain, which fell upon it

J lour after hour ; for sounds of softest song
Mixed with the stringed melodies that won it

To Iftave the gentle lips on which it slept,

Had loosed the heart of him who sat and wept.


Had loosed his heart, and shook the leaves and flowers On which he wept, the while the savage storm

Waked by the darkest of December's hours

Was raving round the chamber hushed and warm;

The birds were shivering in their leafless bowers,
The fish were frozen in the pools, the form

Of every summer plant was dead [ ]

Whilst this » » •

January, 1823,




Oh thou, who plumed with strong desire
Wouldst float above the earth, beware!
A Shadow tracks thy flight of fire—

Night is coming!
Bright are the regions of the air,
And among the winds and Yearns
It were delight to wander there—
Night is coming!


The deathless stars are bright above;

If I would cross the shade of night, Within my heart is the lamp of love,

And that is day! And the moon will smile with gentle light

On my golden plumes where'er they move The meteors will linger round my flight And make night day.


But if the whirlwinds of darkness waken

Hail and lightning aud stormy rain; See the bounds of the air are shaken— Night is coming!

The red swift clouds of the hurricane
Yon declining sun have overtaken,
The clash of the hail sweeps over the plain-
Night is coming!


I see the light, and I hear the sound;

I'll sail on the flood of the tempest dark With the calm within and the light around

Which makes night day: And thou, when the gloom is deep and stark, Look from tjjy dull earth, slumber-bound, My moon-like flight thou then may'st mark On high, far away.

Some say, there is a precipice

Where one vast pine is frozen to ruin O'er piles of snow and chasms of ice

Mid Alpine mountains;
And that the languid storm pursuing

That winged shape for ever flies
Round those' hoar branches, aye renewing
Its aery fountains.

Some say, when nights are dry and clear,

And the death dews sleep on the morass* Sweet whispers are heard by the traveller

Which makes night day. And a silver shape like his early love doth pass

Upborne by her wild and glittering hair, And when he awakes on the fragrant grass, He finds night day.


They were two cousins, almost like to twins,

Except that from the catalogue of sins

Nature had razed their love—which could not be

But by dissevering their nativity.

And so they grew together, like two flowers

Upon one stem, which the same beams and showers

Lull or awaken in their purple prime,

Which the same hand will gather—the same clime

Shake with decay. This fair day smiles to see

All those who love,—and who ever loved like thee,

Fiordispina } Scarcely Cosimo,

Within whose bosom and whose brain now glow

The ardours of a vision which obscure

The very idol of its portraiture;

He faints, dissolved into a sense of love;

But thou art as a planet sphered above,

But thou art Love itself—the ruling motion

Of his subjected spirit—such emotion

Must end in sin and sorrow, if sweet May

Had not brought forth this morn—your wedding day.

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