Showered on us, and the dove mourned in the
Sad prophetess of sorrows not her own.
Your breath is like soft music, your words are
The echoes of a voice which on my
Sleeps like a melody of early days.
But as you said—
So beautiful in mystery and terror, Calming me as the loveliness of heaven Soothes the unquiet sea:—and yet not so, For he seemed stormy, and would often seem A quenchless sun masked in portentous clouds; For such his thoughts, and even his actions were But he was not of them, nor they of him, But as they hid his splendour from the earth. Some said he was a man of blood and peril, And steeped in bitter infamy to the lips. More need was there I should be innocent, More need that I should be most true and kind, And much more need that there should be found
To share remorse, and scorn, and solitude,
And all the ills that wait on those who do The tasks of ruin in the world of life.
He fled, and I have followed him.
Is he who was the winter of my peace.
But, fairest stranger, when didst thou depart From the far hills, where rise the springs of India? How didst thou pass the intervening sea?
If I be sure I am not dreaming now, I should not doubt to say it was a dream.
THERE was a little lawny islet By anemone and violet,
Like mosaic, paven;
And its roof was flowers and leaves Which the summer's breath en weaves,
Where nor sun nor showers nor breeze Pierce the pines and tallest trees,
Each a gem engraven ;—
Girt by many an azure wave
With which the clouds and mountains pave A lake's blue chasm.
BEST and brightest, come away, Fairer far than this fair day,
Which like thee to those in sorrow, Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow To the rough year just awake In its cradle on the brake.
The brightest hour of unborn spring, Through the winter wandering, Found it seems the halcyon morn, To hoar February born;
Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth, It kissed the forehead of the earth, And smiled upon the silent sea, And bade the frozen streams be free, And waked to music all their fountains, And breathed upon the frozen mountains, And like a prophetess of May
Strewed flowers upon the barren way, Making the wintry world appear Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.
Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild wood and the downs; To the silent wilderness
Where the soul need not repress Its music, lest it should not find An echo in another's mind, While the touch of Nature's art Harmonizes heart to heart. I leave this notice on my door For each accustomed visitor :-
"I am gone into the fields
To take what this sweet hour yields.
Reflection, you may come to-morrow, Sit by the fireside of Sorrow. You with the unpaid bill, Despair, You, tiresome verse-reciter, Care, I will pay you in the grave, Death will listen to your stave. Expectation too, be off! To-day is for itself enough. Hope in pity mock not woe
With smiles, nor follow where I go ; Long having lived on thy sweet food, At length I find one moment good After long pain-with all your love, This you never told me of.”
Radiant Sister of the Day, Awake, arise, and come away! To the wild woods and the plains, To the pools where winter rains Image all their roof of leaves, Where the pine its garland weaves Of sapless green, and ivy dun, Round stems that never kiss the sun, Where the lawns and pastures be And the sand-hills of the sea, Where the melting hoar-frost wets The daisy-star that never sets, And wind-flowers and violets, Which yet join not scent to hue, Crown the pale year weak and new:
When the night is left behind In the deep east, dim and blind, And the blue noon is over us, And the multitudinous Billows murmur at our feet,
Where the earth and ocean meet, And all things seem only one, In the universal sun.
Now the last day of many days, All beautiful and bright as thou, The loveliest and the last, is dead, Rise, Memory, and write its praise! Up, do thy wonted work! come, trace The epitaph of glory fled,
For now the Earth has changed its face, A frown is on the Heaven's brow.
We wandered to the Pine Forest That skirts the Ocean's foam, The lightest wind was in its nest, The tempest in its home.
The whispering waves were half asleep,
The clouds were gone to play, And on the bosom of the deep
The smile of Heaven lay;
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